The Case of the Identical Cousin
by RobinLady-in-Waiting
Summary: Fraser's identical cousin Peter, comes to Chicago to shadow him and Ray V as research for a TV show. Trouble is sure to come.
1. 1 Assignment: Cousin Peter

**The Case of the Identical Cousin**

Turnbull sat humming at his desk organizing Insp. Met Thatcher's family recipes. She'd recently received them in the mail from her Aunt Eileen and didn't want to deal with them herself. Her aunt's ancient, Spencerian-style scrawl was nearly indecipherable. Meg wanted to be able to read them if she ever had anyone besides herself to cook for ever again. Turnbull's fastidious print would be so much easier to read. With a sigh the dark haired, dark eyed, Canadian Chief Liaison Officer walked past the blithely content subordinate officer and on down the hallway.

"Constable Fraser, may I have a moment, please?" Thatcher asked popping her head into the open office door. The top notch RCMP Officer looked up from the report he'd been typing, a surprised expression on his handsome face. He always looked surprised when he looked at her, kinda like a deer in the headlights.

"Yes, Sir." Constable Benton Fraser stood up quickly, hands behind his back, feet apart as he stood in his usual fashion; parade rest. Meg took a deep breath, he was extraordinary, standing there like something off of a Harlequin romance novel cover. Those green eyes and that straight, Roman nose, dark brown hair and full, firm bottom lip made the lady mountie melt like an iceberg in Bermuda.

"I, um, I, do you have the weekly reports ready yet?" Thatcher asked, her thoughts finally gaining traction.

"I wasn't aware that they were due today, Sir, I can have them for you by the end of the day if you wish." Fraser looked at the desk blotter to check the date, certain that it was only Tuesday and the reports were due on Monday of the next week. He'd just turned the previous week's in the day before.

"Oh, yes, you turned them in yesterday didn't you." Meg searched her brain for what she'd actually came to ask for and couldn't recall. "Carry on then, Constable Fraser." She turned to walk away, her heels thumping steadily on the carpeted floor of the hallway. Almost to the door she finally remembered what it was she'd gone down the hall to ask for. Growling at herself for her being distracted, Meg dialed Fraser's extension. "Constable Fraser, there will be an honored guest arriving on Thursday, I'd like it if you would show him around the city while he's here." She picked up the dossier she'd been sent by her superiors and wondered about the man coming to spend time shadowing one of the detectives of the Chicago police department for a week.

"May I ask who it is, Sir?" Fraser inquired, hoping it would be a scientist or a professor of some sort.

"It's an actor, Peter Gloss, he'll be here all week to follow a detective from the Chicago police department, research for a new show or movie, the dossier doesn't say." She skimmed the typed information again. Her eyes zoomed in on the picture attached when she heard,

"Oh dear, Peetie." Said as if it were a curse word Fraser had let slip.

"How did they mix up and put a picture of you in the file, Constable Fraser?" Meg laughed, thinking it had been a joke.

"Well, Sir, I," Fraser took a deep breath, "Peter is my cousin, my Aunt Judy's son on my father's side." Meg could hear him beginning a long, drawn out explanation.

"He's the one that did that movie," The inspector racked her brain for the title.

"Yes, Sir, it is." Cousin Peetie was the last person Fraser wanted visiting for a week.

"Why haven't you said he was your cousin before now, Constable Fraser?" Insp. Thatcher asked, a little starry eyed.

"Frankly, it's something I prefer not to mention, Sir." The good constable gritted his teeth momentarily as he thought about those holiday visits with the only cousin his age.

"I see, well, his agent will be calling tomorrow to schedule the week's itinerary, since you two are relatives, this should be a pleasant assignment, Constable Fraser." Thatcher's voice sounded cheerful.

"Yes, Sir." Was all Fraser could manage. He'd rather have sentry duty every day until retirement than to spend ten minutes in the building with his cousin.

**Scene Break**

"Hey, Fraser, how's it goin'?" Ray asked as his Canadian friend walked into the squad room. The Armani clad detective looked up from his never ending supply of paperwork, glad to see him.

"I'm fine, Ray, how are you this afternoon?" The mountie tossed his hat easily onto the hat rack and sat down in the chair across the desk from the Italian detective.

"I've got a hundred and one cases that need solving as usual, you?" A thick stack of files sat on the corner of the desk. Fraser didn't hear the question, instead he stared at his boots. From the Civilian Aide desk Francesca came walking her best runway walk, back strait, chest high, mega-watt smile spread across her face. Tentatively she touched her short, dark hair before she got close to the mountie whom she'd gladly skin and mount any day.

"Hello, Fraser." She fiddled with the top button of her uniform shirt until it was open and the lapels pulled strategically apart. "I bought this new perfume yesterday, how do you like it?" Ray's younger sister ran her hands down her curvy body, bending at the knees so that her breast were right at Fraser's eye level. The Canadian inhaled deeply and plastered a polite smile on his features.

"It's quite something, Miss Vecchio." He gave a vague answer.

"Thank you, but how many times have I told you, call me Francesca." She purred in her huskiest, most seductive voice.

"Francesca." Fraser humored her. Ray studied the interaction. Usually Fraser's face flamed up to match his red, serge uniform when Frannie showed off in front of him. This time it was as pale as ever. Francesca shimmied off, her walk rolling like sea waves as she strutted across the squad room.

"What's the matter with you, Bennie?" The detective asked, his dark brows knitting together as he waited for an answer.

"Nothing, Ray, I'm quite alright." Fraser shrugged but didn't quite look his friend in the eye.

"Bullshit, Fraser, you usually light up like Rudolph the Red nosed Reindeer when Frannie comes on to you." It wasn't often Ray called BS on Fraser, he didn't have much reason to.

"I have a new assignment I'm leery of, Ray, I," He didn't get a chance to finish.

"Vecchio, I've reassigned some of your workload, here's your new assignment." Lt. Walsh dropped a file folder on the detective's desk and grinned. Ray skimmed the contents of the file and looked at his boss suspiciously.

"A babysitting gig, Sir, really, I have fourteen unsolved murders that have leads I could be working." Vecchio wheedled like he always did when he wanted out of something.

"And those leads will be right there this time next week when Mr. Gloss is finished shadowing you and Fraser." Lt. Walsh insisted, his irises disappearing behind the folds around his eyes. Fraser hung his head, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the tile floor underfoot, a groan escaping his throat. "I hope the three of you will get along well together." Whistling, the lieutenant walked on through the squad room and off to the break room, a self-satisfied smile on his aging jowls. Ray gave him a cold, annoyed glare as he left. Scanning the printed page he didn't see any reason his boss would gloat about, until he got to the back of the file and saw the black and white, 8X10 glossy photo.

"I've never seen this picture of you, Fraser, is it new?" Ray asked, looking at his unofficial partner. "There must be some mistake here." Fraser shook his head no, a no-hope-of-survival look in his green eyes.

"Peter Gloss is my Aunt Judy's only son, he's an actor of some note in the Territories, Ray." The mountie smoothed one eyebrow with his thumbnail as he sat in the chair wishing he were tracking bank robbers across the tundra barefoot.

"Why didn't you say something, Bennie?" Ray hated the assignment but couldn't wait to meet one of Fraser's relatives, especially one he dreaded seeing so badly. A sneaky, wolfish grin pulled at the Italian detective's features as he leaned back in his office chair.

**Scene Break**


	2. 2 Hello Peter

**Thursday morning at the Airport …. **

The long, black, Lincoln Towncar sat waiting near the exit, Turnbull at the helm. People stared curiously at the Canadian flag waving from the antenna near the hood as they pulled their luggage to and fro along the sidewalk. A friendly, spring breeze blew as the tall, lanky mountie sat waiting for his superior officer to return with their celebrity guest. Turnbull tapped his fingers in time with the concerto playing on the radio, lost in thought.

Fraser played with his hat anxiously as he searched the hundreds of faces flowing in a stream out of the various flights just landed. Diefenbaker stood beside him, his tail thrashing eagerly as he waited to see his human's double, he always brought the best treats when he visited. Dief sniffed out Peter before Fraser could see him in the crowd and let out a loud, attention getter of a bark.

"Dief" Fraser admonished sternly.

"Cousin Ben, Hello." The voice that rang out across the sea of strangers sounded like Benton Fraser, if he were doing an impression of himself. Hat in his hand, the mountie waved to the tall, athletic man walking quickly toward him pulling a dark green roller bag along behind him. A slim, pale man of about forty huffed and puffed down the tile floor behind Peter, matching luggage gripped in both hands and one bag slung across his body.

"Peter, hello, how are you?" Benton greeted his cousin as warmly as he could without sounding snippy.

"I'm great. I'm so sorry, I heard about Uncle Robert, I was on set in LA when it happened." Peter pushed the designer sunglasses he wore on top of his head before latching onto his cousin in a quick man-hug. He then turned to greet Dief, pulling a dog treat from his khakis' pocket.

"Thank you kindly, Peter." Fraser pasted a polite smile on his face, wishing he could catch some rare, week long illness that would leave him unfit for duty. He gritted his teeth, he knew Insp. Thatcher wouldn't let him out of it for anything less than a coma anyway.

"Here are your bags, Mr. Gloss." The huffing, puffing man spoke quietly.

"Oh yes, Randy, thank you." Peter smiled, looking down at the less than average height man with the red face and sweat soaked brow as he set the luggage down at his feet. "Ben, this is my agent, Randal Casey." The two shook hands briefly, Randy's eyes going from his employer to the mountie.

"Let me assist you with those." Fraser grabbed all but the bag slung across his body easily and led the way to the car outside. Turnbull didn't see Fraser or Peter walking toward the Lincoln, instead he was worlds away with the music, his eyes closed as he conducted a symphony found only in his mind.

"Constable Turnbull." Fraser spoke loudly as he stood by the open driver's side window. Nothing happened. "Turnbull, turn the radio off, please." He repeated to no avail. Annoyed, he reached inside and turned the car radio down himself. Turnbull came out of his reverie almost instantly. Fraser only shook his head and leveled a stern glare at him.

"Constable Fraser, you're back so soon." Turnbull fell over himself releasing the car's trunk and getting out to assist with the baggage. "Mr. Gloss, I must admit, I've seen all your movies and several of the television shows you've guest starred on, I'm a big fan." Turnbull gushed like a teen age girl.

"Well, I'll have my people send you an autographed photo then," Peter fished for the junior mountie's name, despite hearing it only moments before. Turnbull didn't even notice the slip.

"I'm Constable Turnbull, Sir, it would be an honor." The junior mountie opened the rear car door at attention, his shoulders squared and his chest puffed out. Fraser watched it all in disgust. That's the way it had always been between them. Peter flourished in the lime light and Benton stood in the outer shadows looking in.

"Turnbull, our guest has reservations at the Hylton." Fraser reminded the star struck officer as he folded himself behind the steering wheel. Turnbull nodded in the rear view mirror before starting the ignition and pulling into the stream of traffic. All three passengers and Dief took their seats in the limo with leg room to spare.

"So, Ben, they've got you stationed here in Chicago now with the consulate office, I must admit, it isn't the kind of work I'd imagined you doing." Peter leaned back against the seat, a broad, open smile on his handsome features.

"I first came to Chicago on the trail of the men responsible for my father's death..." _(We've all heard that spiel so I'll skip it.) _The rest of the ride was an in-depth explanation of the man hunt that had left Fraser working in the Canadian Consulate and unofficially with the Chicago police department. Peter's eyes glazed over after the first sentence but he was used to his cousin's lengthy answers. All his childhood years he'd had people ask, _'Why can't you be more like Benton,' _or, _'Benton's so nice, or smart'_, or any other compliment. It was rather sickening.

"I thought you'd be settled down in some station five miles outside of Russia, Ben." Peter reiterated his question as he sat back against the plush, leather seats and looked out at the streaming traffic around them.

"Yes, I thought so as well." Fraser responded wistfully, letting it die. They'd never communicated very well.

**Scene Break**

Peter walked into his hotel room empty handed, as usual. Fraser and Randy set the bags along the wall of the generously sized suite. The first thing the actor did was to throw open the drapes and revel in the sunshine.

"Randy, will you be kind enough to call and check on Max for me?" Peter grinned at his agent who sat in an armchair catching his breath. Weary, the forty-something agent pulled out his cell phone and began dialing.

"Is one of your entourage on a later flight, Peter?" Fraser asked, his curiosity welling up.

"Max, he's my best friend on four legs." Peter pulled out his wallet and flipped to a picture of himself and the Australian Shepard. It's blue eyes and happy grin mirrored those of his owner. "He's smart as a tack."

**At the Canadian Consulate … **

Turnbull made a neat right hand turn onto the parking lot set aside for the consulate. Quick as a wink, he rushed out to open the doors for Fraser, Randy and Peter. Diefenbaker trotted out before the humans could move. Fraser looked at his cousin's back as he walked around the corner to the consulate. He stood tall and had a personable air about him that drew people to him. Peter didn't mind making a clown of himself, asking questions, reading people, and he'd talk to anyone. Peter's personality seemed to unlock doors wherever he went.

"He's a hard one to keep up with, isn't he Constable Fraser?" Randy asked as he brought up the rear of the procession.

"Peter, ah, yes he is." The mountie nodded, first looking at his well polished boots. They walked up the stairs in silence. Turnbull stood holding the door, a broad, earnest grin on his face. Fraser only nodded. Just as the door closed the mountie heard his boss' voice. Insp. Meg Thatcher's voice sounded very high and fast. She was nervous and Fraser could hear it. A small, mischievous part of him wanted to see her squirm.

"Oh, Constable Fraser, I was just telling Mr. Gloss what it is we do here at the consulate." Thatcher wrung her hands as she stood in front of the entrance desk beside her subordinate officer. Peter eyed the way Fraser pasted on his polite smile, his jaw working as he looked at the saucy brunette standing between them.

"Yes, Inspector Thatcher." Fraser agreed blandly.

"Meg here tells me you solve cases with the Chicago PD in your spare time." Peter leaned casually against the door frame between the foyer and Thatcher's office.

"Yes, on occasion." He answered.

"Maybe something interesting will happen while I'm in town this week." Peter winked at Meg , his arms folded across his chest.

"Perhaps." Fraser's jaw clenched for a brief moment as he met his cousin's gaze.

**Scene Break **


	3. Chapter 3 Francesca

**The twenty-third precinct … **

After lunch at one of the best restaurants in Chicago, Fraser finally managed to maneuver his cousin to the station to meet Ray Vecchio. Turnbull drove them, much to Fraser's annoyance. He didn't like to be chauffeured around when he had two, perfectly good legs to walk. The twenty-third precinct, the one that Ray had called home his whole career, was painted a dull, mint green as far as the eye could see. His comfortable desk was situated near the lieutenant's office, off to one side. A row of windows high up on the wall opposite Rays' desk allowed in morning light. All this was well and good for the Italian detective, it kept him a whole squad room away from his younger sister, Francesca Vecchio. They were a pair of siblings no one forgot easily; loud, abrasive, opinionated, bossy and heaven help anyone who hurt one of them because they'd have the other to contend with. Francesca, the Civilian Aide, had her desk near the front door of the squad room. It spoke volumes about her personality. A heart shaped paper clip dispenser sat near the phone and a red handkerchief dimmed the sixty watt bulb of the standard, black office lamp. A nail file and buffer were the first things in her top drawer.

With a plastic 'Visitor' tag on his forest green polo shirt, Peter soaked up the atmosphere around him. Uniformed officers walked along in pairs. Detectives in street clothes milled around drinking coffee and shooting the breeze with a hard won confidence gained from years spent on the job. Heads turned when they saw Peter in street clothes and Fraser following on his cousin's heels. It was the reaction they'd always gotten when Peter had spent time at their grandparents' house over the holidays. People would say, "Oh, Benton, I didn't know you had a twin." That would usually start his long winded explanation of who Peter was.

The mountie walked along the hall way outside the squad room, dreading the meeting he knew was inevitable. Randal brought up the rear, eyes open, mouth closed as usual. The first desk they passed was Francesca, who, without looking up spoke, "Fraser, nice outfit, I thought you ..." Her lovely, doe like eyes widened and her mouth fell open when she saw the authentic mountie walk in behind his double.

"Thank you, Francesca, I recently purchased a new leather cleaner." Benton looked down at his boots and admired the high shine he'd spent hours perfecting.

"Who is this lovely, young lady, Ben?" Peter asked, stopping short, his green eyes surveying Francesca as she stood up to be introduced.

"This is Miss Francesca Vecchio, Civilian Aide, her brother is the detective you'll be shadowing this week," Fraser filled in the blanks. "Francesca, this is my cousin, Peter Gloss, he'll be our guest here at the precinct until Wednesday of next week." The mountie counted the hours. He'd rather serve as polar bear bait than have Peter around longer than necessary.

"A pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman." Peter took Frannie's hand in his and kiss the back of it like an old world knight as she blushed furiously.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Gloss." With her free hand, Francesca straightened her blouse, pulling it down to showcase her assets for Peter's appreciation.

"Call me Peter, please, Miss Vecchio." Their hands lingered for a moment as Peter looked deep into the Civilian Aide's chocolate brown eyes. She didn't breathe for a moment, transfixed by the handsome man across from her. He had a certain magnetism that dispersed any coherent thought in the Italian's brain.

"Yo, Frannie, do you have that rap sheet I asked for over an hour ago?" Ray walked up to the desk, his eyes looking from one Canadian to the other.

"No, Ray, I haven't got it yet, OK." Frannie smarted back at him, her hand on her hip as she turned to face him.

"Yikes, don't bite my head off, alright." Ray threw his hands up in sarcastic defeat.

"Ray, this is my cousin, Peter Gloss, he'll be accompanying us this week," Fraser turned to his cousin, "Peter, this is Detective Ray Vecchio." Ray gave the suave actor a quick, firm handshake, meeting his all business attitude in kind.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Gloss, Bennie's told us absolutely nothing about you." The detective spoke bluntly. He hadn't like the oily way he'd sized up Francesca.

"Ben and I haven't seen each other in what, ten years of so?" Peter shrugged.

"Yes, just after you moved to Toronto." Fraser had stopped in to see his first stage play while attending a training seminar. The mountie had thoroughly enjoyed the seminar on procedure, the stage play, not so much. Shakespearean dialogue did not fit well in a post-apocalyptic setting, especially when the play was a comedy. It hadn't done the masterpieces justice to Fraser's way of thinking.

"Det. Vecchio, Constable Fraser, show our guest to my office." Lt. Walsh's voice boomed out across the squad room. A commanding figure, the experienced investigator ushered them into his small office.

"Hello, Mr. Gloss, I'm Lt. Walsh, it's a pleasure to meet you." The lieutenant's beefy hand shook the actor's eagerly. "I'm afraid I can't say I've seen any of your work." Walsh took a seat behind his desk.

"I haven't had the opportunity to branch out away from Canada until now. My agent, Randy," Peter pointed to the man standing beside the door with Fraser, "he's managed to negotiate the lead for me in a new, untitled project out of New York, they tell me it's supposed to be a crime drama."

"So, they arranged for you to shadow a Chicago detective or was that your choice, Mr. Gloss?" Walsh asked, his eyes narrowing. He didn't like people interfering with his precinct's case load.

"It was my choice actually, the show will probably be based here in Chicago if a network picks it up, hopefully they do and we'll have a nice long run." Peter laughed. Fraser like to have swallowed his tongue. He'd have rather chopped down a redwood tree with his pocket knife than spend the next four years with Peter in Chicago. Ray saw his friend turn a shade paler, if possible.

"Maybe, it's a beautiful city to film in." Walsh smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes in genuineness.

"Well, Ben, what's the first thing on the schedule?" Peter asked, his head turning back to his cousin. The actor's '_schedule' _didn't have the _shed_ to it like Fraser's. The mountie pulled a printed page from the inside of his pocket and examined it.

We've taken care of everything on the itinerary." Fraser shrugged and replaced the printed page.

"Then I have a suggestion," Walsh leaned forward, elbows on his desk, "there's been a burglary at the jewelry store on Delancey street, it should prove interesting; reasonably safe." The lieutenant handed Ray the report.

"Thank you Lt. Walsh, I appreciate this." Peter stood up, anxious to be on his way. Randy opened the door, he new what would probably happen next when he saw the excitement in his biggest client's eyes. Peter would be like a dog after a Frisbee on this case. Randy hoped the detective and the mountie could handle him.

**Scene Break **


	4. Chapter 4 Diamonds on Delancey

_Diamonds on Delancey_ was a small jewelers that specialized mostly in engagement rings and necklace charms. The sign was a black and gold piece of Victorian design, complete with a cupid to one side on the red, brick building. It had stood on that street for thirty-five years, selling hopes and dreams as well as promises. Now the window so many couples had gazed into was busted and Mr. Anderson's dream lay fractured. A single, blue and white squad car sat outside the scene, two officers stood watch around the broken glass, the senior officer taking a very distraught Mr. Nathaniel Anderson's statement. Ray rolled up in the Rivera, his red light sitting on the dash board. Peter sat in the passenger seat while Fraser and Dief rode in the backseat. The green boat of a car stopped smoothly, Ray's careful, routine maintenance saw to that. Peter threw the passenger door open wide, eager to see what was happening. While Fraser was a patient observer, Peter had always dove right in.

"Hey, Mr. Gloss, let's get a few things straight," The lead detective laid an authoritative hand on the actor's shoulder. "This is my case, and you follow _my_ lead, I don't want to have to save your ass, do we understand each other?" Ray laid it off, his index finger wagging beneath Peter's nose. All the Canadian actor could do was look down, shocked to spoken to that way.

"Understood, Detective Vecchio." Peter blinked quickly before answering. It was the same tone of voice Fraser spoke with. Ray took off toward the senior officer, walking straight and true.

"Hello, I'm Det. Vecchio, Mr. uh." He fished for the store owners' name, his badge in one hand and his notebook in the other.

"I'm Nathaniel Anderson, I've owned this store for the last thirty-five years, this is fourth time I've been robbed." The jeweler mopped bare forehead with a clean hanky he pulled from his dark suit's breast pocket.

"What did the suspect look like, Mr. Anderson?" Ray asked, looking at the retirement age gentleman with the dark chocolate skin and salt and pepper hair.

"It was a young man, white, around twenty-five or so, maybe your height, Detective." Anderson motioned toward Ray with his hanky. Vecchio kept one eye on the man standing before him and one on Peter, who nosed around the scene, hands behind his back. Diefenbaker trotted beside him, sniffing at anything interesting. A few times the wolf looked up at him to beg for a treat. The actor was far too interested in the shoe prints near the jewelry cases to notice the white fur ball. He studied the geometric shapes left in the dirt the suspect had carried in. Peter quite forgot himself, not thinking of his agent who'd gone to pick up his German Shepard dog, his growling stomach or the dozen people standing around the store, eying him curiously.

"Did you get a look at the suspect's face?" Ray narrowed his dark eyes as hes saw the precinct's guest kneel down to examine something.

"No, the guy wore a ski mask and sunglasses." Mr. Anderson rubbed his head, trying to remember the whole incident clearly.

"Did he have any tattoos, anything distinguishing?" Ray caught Fraser's attention and pointed him toward the nosy actor.

"Peter," Fraser began, before he saw what his cousin was studying. "Are those the suspect's foot prints?" Peter looked up, his brows unfurling.

"Yes, the suspect's shoes are a common, athletic shoe, size eleven I'd say, fairly new." The mountie squatted down, examining the prints for himself. Fraser noted the wear on the side of the left foot, it turned off to the outside.

"We won't know anything until the lab guys go through the surveillance tape." Ray joined them, his voice interrupting the Canadians.

"How long will that take?" Peter stood up, still looking around the store. The display cases closest to the front hadn't been touched, only the ones near the store room; the ones containing the most expensive pieces. To the experienced detective nothing seemed out of place.

"A few hours at least." Ray shrugged, wishing he could twitch his nose and make things happen immediately. "From the description Mr. Anderson gave me, it won't do much good, a ski mask and sunglasses, he could barely tell it was a guy who robbed the store." The detective shook his head, he'd seen too many of these small time robberies go unsolved.

"Ray, the shoe print Peter found is distinctive, our suspect has a slight limp caused by an old injury, he favors his left foot." Fraser pointed out the clear print left behind in dirt.

"I'll tell the lab techs to take a picture of it." The detective sauntered toward one of the science guys in the back of the store examining the surveillance tape.

"This isn't so hard, Fraser, I can see why you stick with it." Peter stood up, grinning like he'd actually done something to gloat about.

One eyebrow raised, the mountie looked at him, but kept quiet. Silently Ben thought, "Delusional as always."

"Alright, guys, we're ready to leave the scene, the squad guys will finish up." Ray started back toward his green dream, keys in hand.

"So soon?" Peter marveled, he'd supposed they'd be at the jewelry store for hours.

Ray shot Fraser an _'Is he for real?_' look and stepped into the classic Rivera. The mountie just nodded; he knew they were in for hours of stale coffee and tired backsides as they examined hours of surveillance footage, photographs, witness statements and suspect mug shots. Ben doubted he had the focus to see the next phase of the case through.

**Scene Break**

"Fraser, there's a call on line one for you." Francesca said with a sour expression, popping her head into the empty interrogation room. Gingerly she edged her way into the room, slowly strutting her way to where Peter sat in front of a television set. Ray hit the pause button.

"Thank you kindly, Francesca." Fraser stood up, a smile in his tired eyes. He'd been studying footage for four hours. It was easier to spot snowshoe rabbits on the ice floes than to spot anything on that blurry, black and white surveillance camera.

"No problem, Fraser." The quirky Civilian Aide wiggled her fingers at him, not looking at the mountie, instead solely focused on the visiting celebrity. He was much more receptive to her coquettish smile and faint blush than Fraser ever had. She'd freshened up as soon as she'd seen the Canadian actor.

"Hello there, Miss Vecchio." Peter sat up straight when she seated herself on the table top, her short, navy skirt showing a good amount of thigh. Ray rolled his eyes; his sister had always been a shameless flirt. Her big, brown eyes and cute, little nose atop a cute, curvy figure had always served her well. When those didn't work, Frannie had a temper like no one's business and a keen, conniving streak. She'd never been malicious without provocation though.

"Constable Fraser here," Benton answered the phone on Ray's desk.

"Oh good, Constable Fraser, Insp. Thatcher here, I was hoping you would extend the consulate's invitation to Mr. Gloss for diner this evening." Her voice took on it's formal tone, the one Benton heard when he knew she was nervous. He took a deep breath and pasted on his own formal tone, the one he used when he was aggravated or unsure.

"I'll extend the invitation, Sir, I'm sure Peter will accept." Benton responded. He'd rather let Turnbull give him a root canal than sit through an awkward diner with his cousin openly flirting with his boss.

"See that you do, Constable Fraser." Insp. Thatcher said resolutely before hanging up abruptly.

Fraser replaced the receiver, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. It was going to be a long, long week.

**Scene Break**


	5. Chapter 5 Dinner with Peter

_**Dinner at the Consulate …**_

Turnbull had been polishing silver all afternoon. He had become an expert at polishing and cleaning while on assignment with the Chicago consulate. The junior mountie was always polishing silver, various parts of his uniform, windows, anything Inspector Thatcher could lay tongue to. Dinner that night was catered, thankfully. Everything Turnbull cooked tasted like caribou stew anyway, whether it was or not. The dining room had been specially prepared; a dark maroon, linen table cloth spread across the antique oak table, cream colored candles in the silver pedestals, and fine china had been set out with the best crystal.

"Turnbull, have you laid out the linen napkins yet?" Thatcher asked, in more of a demand tone of voice than an interrogative one.

"Yes, Sir, I've also set the table, polished the silver," He went down a laundry list of other things he'd been up to all day, including picking up her dry cleaning.

"Good, I'll be back to the consulate at six o'clock, have the caterer set things up." In her usual brisk manner, the inspector walked away, her mind already headed the other direction and her dry cleaning slung over her shoulder. This evening had to be perfect. She was nervous that she wouldn't measure up to all the adoring women Peter associated with on a regular basis. The tough, lady mountie had had her fair share of appreciative glances, whistles, cat calls, and date offers, but those few, intimate kisses she'd shared with Benton had been the highlight of her sex life lately. Meg considered the last thought with regret. The reserved woodsman frustrated Meg to no end. He kissed as if he'd never kiss anyone else, and then ran for cover the next moment. Dancing the dance just made Meg disheartened. She wondered about the depth and the authenticity of his feelings.

"Drive carefully, Inspector Thatcher." Constable Turnbull wished her as she strode out of the room. Meg wanted to get home in time to freshen up. She wished there were a week to prepare, go on a diet, have her roots done, buy a new dress, have a total make-over, anything. It was hopeless, at least that's what Meg Thatcher thought. She couldn't see the big, chocolate brown eyes, the luxurious curves or the mega watt smile that others saw when they looked at her.

**Scene Break**

Randy walked the German Shepherd around the block outside the Hylton. Max walked, sniffed, marked territory and looked around his new surroundings. Several passers-by watched him as he nosed around happily. It gave Randy time to network, to try and serve the rest of his paying clientele. Peter had been on the roster a lot longer than the rest. They'd pulled through some very rough times together, times when Peter's stage plays had closed early, setback, and cancellations. Peter had even helped Randy with his divorce. He made sure that his agent was able to pay his end of the bargain. Randy's daughter never had to do without because of him.

When the cell phone rang in his pocket Randy knew who it would be before he answered.

"Hello, Peter." The wheeling and dealing agent answered on the second ring with a weary smile.

"Randy, I'm glad I caught you, listen, I have a diner date at the consulate tonight at six-thirty, will you have me something laid out and have the concierge shine my shoes?" Peter spouted off quickly. "They've invited you as well." He remembered suddenly.

"Alright, Peter, everything will be ready for you." The agent swallowed a sigh.

"Thank you kindly, Randy." Before the agent could reply the actor had hung up the phone. Shaking his head, Randy gathered up Max and re-entered the upscale hotel. At least Peter would be occupied for the evening.

_**Five forty-five at the Consulate … **_

"Turnbull, Good evening." Fraser nodded as he passed the subordinate mountie. He'd had time to change into his dress uniform and make it back to the consulate. The mountie didn't actually want to have diner with Inspector Thatcher and Peter. He'd rather have his toenails removed with needle nose pliers.

"Hello, Constable Fraser, you're expected in the dining room." Turnbull greeted him, a cake plate in hand and an apron around his dress uniform.

"Thank you, Turnbull, as you were." Fraser nodded as he continued down the corridor.

"Where is Constable Fraser, he was supposed to be here by now." The mountie heard Thatcher's voice from the far end of the hallway. She was like thunder in a library.

"Here I am, Sir, I wasn't aware that I was late." Fraser asked innocently.

"Stop apologizing, Constable Fraser." Thatcher commanded.

"Yes, Sir." The obedient mountie nodded, pulling his coat tail back into position. Peter and Randy followed the mountie into the consulate.

"Ms. Thatcher, wonderful to see you again." Peter bowed slightly, taking her small hand in his and pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. His light eyes met her dark ones as he looked up at her momentarily. The blush creeping up her cheeks and the dark lashes fringing her chocolate brown eyes was quite charming.

"It's Inspector, actually," Meg murmured, her free hand touching her cheek. "We are glad to have you to diner at the consulate." She finished in a stronger tone. Fraser thought he'd swallow his tongue when he saw Peter's most charming grin. He saw the facade in Peter's face, the same one he'd seen so many times during the holidays when he would flirt with all the girls, especially the ones that Ben noticed. Growing up, the poor boy had turned beet red when a girl spoke to him, smiled, teased, and heaven forbid they brush up against him innocently. Peter used that to his advantage. For weeks after the holidays school girls would come up and say, "Hi, Ben." smiling and giggling. It tore him up, not knowing why they were paying any attention to him. Eventually, sometime in his late teens, Ben figured out that Peter had deceived the girls. It hurt his feelings, it confused him, and it made him angry. Ben wanted to be friends with his cousin, to have someone to share something, anything with. Family wasn't something he had experienced. Ben spent a lot of time on the fringes of those surrounding him. He could see so keenly what others needed; help, hope, leadership, courage, to name a few. Sometimes the mountie felt like he was in a bubble looking out at the world. Too often growing up, Ben felt like no one was looking into his bubble from theirs. Eventually he grew accustomed to the solitude. The wide expanses of the Yukon Territories had become his consolation.

"Shall we dine?" Fraser asked to move the proceedings along.

"Yes, I am famished." The inspector said, turning to walk down the hall. The mountie motioned for his cousin to go ahead of him, following Thatcher. Their gazes met for a moment. Peter saw the old anger flaring up in Ben's green eyes. The mountie saw challenge in Peter's blue ones.

_"It is going to be a long week."_ Thought Fraser to himself as he watched Peter hurry to catch up to Inspector Thatcher.

_Chicago Catering Company_ had prepared a feast for the consulate. White wine had been chilled to perfection and stood waiting on the small dinner party to arrive. Each place setting had a water goblet and a wine goblet. The silver Turnbull had spent all afternoon polishing glittered in the dimmed lighting, candle light making the glitter dance. A modest, spring flower arrangement sat as the centerpiece on the crisp, white, linen table cloth. Four place settings had been laid, waiting for the evening meal.

Turnbull first served the white wine, except for Fraser, who he knew never drank spirits. Then he served rye party puffs, small balls filled with cream cheese, corned beef and various seasonings. Next came the salad, a leafy, green Caesar salad with almonds and blue cheese dressing. Meg Thatcher picked around the nuts, eating mostly the leafy greens. She didn't want to add insult to injury and blow her calorie count on the dressing, favoring instead to eat dessert after the meal. The yeast rolls she'd specifically asked for were totally out of the question, at least for this meal. The inspector planned on splurging the next day and having them for lunch in her office.

Serving from the guests' left, Turnbull brought the main dish- orange walnut chicken. A warm, citrus scent had been killing the gourmet constable since the caterers arrived. Boneless chicken breasts lay on a bed or rice, onions, an orange and lemon sauce and walnuts covering the chicken, which smelled divine.

"The caterer said this dish was his finest creation, his masterpiece." Turnbull informed the guests with a cheerful smile.

"It certainly looks delicious, doesn't it, Peter?" Thatcher smiled, her mouth watering to eat real food.

"Yes, but not nearly as delicious as you, Inspector Thatcher." Peter said, leaning toward her and laying his hand briefly atop hers. His dark blue eyes were like the sea during a storm; violent, passionate and dangerous. For a moment Meg felt herself drowning in those deep blue pools. She forgot to breathe until he smiled devilishly at her. Fraser nearly choked on the drink of water he'd been about to swallow. He'd forgotten how brazen Peter could be, especially with women. 

"So, Inspector Thatcher, how did such a lovely and charming young lady rise to such a prominent position?" Peter asked, a wolfish expression on his handsome face as he made eye contact with Meg. The navy sport coat played up the blue of the actor's eyes, especially when he wore a baby blue dress shirt with it.

"Oh, it's not really all that prominent I suppose, but I worked hard and had a lucky break here and there." She smiled, playing down how she'd gotten to her rank; through hard work and kissing ass when necessary without dishonoring herself.

"I'd say it is a difficult job, keeping Ben here in line." Peter's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You have no idea, Mr. Gloss." The lady mountie sipped her wine, hiding her sour reaction.

"Call me Peter, please, inspector." He leaned back comfortably in the high backed, oak chair.

"What was it like, growing up with a cousin so remarkably similar in looks, Peter?" Meg grew bolder. She'd worn her favorite dress, a brown and dark purple print that hugged her curves. It's modest V-neck showed her assets. A simple, dark amethyst pendant glittered between Meg's collar bone and the depth of her neckline. She'd caught Peter admiring the necklace one or twice since he'd arrived.

"Ben and I had some wonderful times, playing tricks on the school girls. We kept them all confused." The actor remembered fondly how his cousin would blush furiously when girls would tease him, Peter urging them on. Looking back, he still didn't see why Ben had been so angry with him for playing tricks on him.

"So, Randy, what can you tell us about the project you've come to research?" Fraser sipped his water and gave the quiet agent his full attention.

"It's a buddy cop set up, some comedy, some drama, an American Texas Ranger goes north to find the guys responsible for his wife's murder, teams up with a city police detective, ends up staying, Peter here has been cast to play the city cop, they're thinking of bringing in someone like Kyle Chandler from _Early Edition_ or maybe Dean Cain from _Lois and Clark; The New Adventures of Superman_ for the Texas Ranger." The agent shrugged, he didn't really care who they cast as the second lead, as long as the show had a nice, long run.

"Why did they want to film in Chicago, it seems an unhandy choice." The mountie asked, ignoring his cousin as he chatted with Inspector Thatcher.

"It's a central location for the Canadians and the Americans." Randy answered. It didn't matter to him where they filmed the show.

"Perhaps the writers can come up with something for you, Ben, fans would love a twist like a main character having a long lost twin brother." Peter suggested, interjecting himself into their conversation.

"Yes, perhaps." The mountie agreed. He'd rather have electroshock treatment in a swimming pool than spend a week living in Peter's movie world.

"Maybe the Chicago detective could have a Canadian mountie cousin." Randy suggested, a quick smiles widening then fading as he looked at Benton. The way the mountie looked at his similar cousin was odd, his green eyes were filled with resentment but sadness at the same time. Until a little over a month ago, Randy hadn't known that Peter even had a cousin. Family wasn't something he talked about much. The agent figured there was a reason and he didn't want to pry. Randy just let it slide and ate his chicken dinner in silence.

"Did your detective friend, Ray, find anything useful about the jewelry store robbery?" Peter inquired, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

"No, not yet, he's still waiting for the lab results on the fingerprints and the shoe impression you found at the scene. The suspect left very little to work with." Benton answered, his mind wandering back to the crime scene. There had been glass all over the small store, but only the cases in the back had been smashed and emptied. It seemed odd to the mountie as he thought more about it.

"You have more patience than I do, Ben." Peter lifted his wine glass to his cousin. He didn't know how, but Ben felt jabbed somehow by Peter's words. He simply took the toast given him. This dinner couldn't end soon enough to suit Fraser.

_**After Dinner …**_

Ray Vecchio didn't enjoy dinner with his family any more than Fraser with his cousin. His two sisters and brother-in-law, not to mention his mother all seemed to want to know every detail of his day spent with the Canadian celebrity.

"Ma, he puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like I do, only his cost more." Ray answered his mother in a growl. She'd given him the kind of evil eye reserved especially for her children and called him by his full name. Chicago police detective, grown man or not, she wouldn't hesitate to bend him over her knee for being disrespectful.

"You're just jealous, Ray." Francesca accused as she pushed a fork full of salad into her mouth. That's about all she'd eat until Peter Gloss left Chicago. If he did begin filming in the Windy City, she'd never eat bread again.

"Jealous, of what?" The detective demanded, mashed potatoes sliding off of his spoon.

"Peter." She answered venomously. Ray looked at her like she'd grown a second head.

"I am not jealous of that Canadian, Brad Pitt wanna-be." He waved her off. That was enough for the fight to be on. The brother and sister began throwing verbal darts at each other until Ray had had enough.

"Ma, save me a slice of pie, I'll be back later." The detective pressed a hasty kiss on his mother's fluffy cheek and left the dining room.

Outside of precinct twenty-three Ray pulled the long, green Riviera into a parking spot. Driving his cherished automobile had eased some of the tension caused by his loudmouthed, opinionated sister. Sometimes he liked his car better than he did his sister. Ray always loved her though.

"Hello, Ray." Fraser spoke out of the blue.

"Geez, Fraser, are you like some kind of Canadian ninja or something, you nearly gave me a heart attack." The detective grabbed his chest as he sat in the driver's seat of the green dream.

"My apologies, Ray, I didn't realize you were in such a reverie." The mountie opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat.

"I don't know what a reverie is, but I was just sittin' here thinking about that jewelry store robbery." Ray lied. He didn't want to tell Fraser that he'd been sitting there to get away from his family who thought it was something great that Peter had shown up.

"Yes, I thought about it earlier, during dinner with Insp. Thatcher and Peter." Fraser ran his finger around the leather band of his Stetson.

"How did that go?" The police detective asked, seeing his Canadian friend frown.

"Dinner went well, thank you." Came the standard answer

"Miserable as hell weren't you." Ray quipped, knowing there was more going on between Ben and Peter than Ben was telling.

"Heavens yes, dinner was insufferable." Ben puffed out his cheeks before exhaling with a blow.

"Why did your cousin Peter come to Chicago for if the two of you don't get along?" Ray asked, curious.

"To torture me I suppose, as always." The mountie shook his head in confusion.

"Let me guess, you never retaliated when you were kids either." Ray formulated.

"No, my grandmother always told me not to, she said that since Peter was a city child it wouldn't be a fair fight." Fraser had often wanted to knock Peter out cold, but couldn't bring himself to do it, to disappoint his grandparents.

"Peter's younger than you then?" The detective asked. He'd had to take care of a few bullies growing up. He'd been smaller and skinnier than most of the guys he'd gone to school with. It didn't keep him from wiping the ground with a few of them.

"No, Peter is eleven months, two weeks and four days older than I am." Ben gritted his teeth for a moment, a rare sign of annoyance.

"And your grandmother still wouldn't let you defend yourself when he was mean to you?" It didn't make sense to the tough, Italian detective. It had been every dog for himself among his cousins.

"No, she was quite adamant about it." Fraser assured him. Ray just shook his head.

"So, what's the story with the two of you now?"

"I'm not certain what you mean, Ray?" The mountie asked, confused.

"I mean, what is your cousin after, why's he here, what's his ulterior motives?" Ray laid it out plainly.

"Ah, I see," Fraser puzzled over the answer for a moment. "I haven't figure that out quite yet."

"Well, Frannie thinks he's the best thing since sliced bread." Ray sighed, wishing his sister had entered the convent when she was younger.

"She can be somewhat naïve." Fraser conceded.

"God love her, Frannie lives with her heart on her sleeve." Ray laughed, thinking about all the crushes she'd had in high school; a new one every week.

"Francesca lives life with passion to be sure." Ben let the hint of a mysterious smile pull at his lips. Ray saw it but didn't say anything. He had bigger things to worry about than his do-gooder friend and his sister.

"Come on, Fraser, let's go see what the lab tuned up on those fingerprints." Ray stepped out of the car, the mountie following him into the precinct.

**Scene Break **


	6. Chapter 6 Night Cap

Max lay sleeping on the large, fleece bed he'd had since he was a puppy. The full size, full blooded German Shepard dreamed of chasing rabbits, their short, fuzzy tails teasing him as they hopped through a sun filled meadow. He could just taste their juicy, mouth watering flavor as he dug and dug at a rabbit hole. When he heard the click of the hotel door the dog jerked awake, turning himself nearly wrong side out to see who it was.

"Hello, Max, how's my boy?" Peter asked, kneeling down to shake hands with his canine companion. Happy, the big dog barked once. He could smell the scent of another dog on his human. It was a wilder kind of scent, stronger and more primitive. Max's tail began to wag.

Randy walked in behind Peter, his gray sport coat over his arm. He felt wear to the bone. The agent had been awake since five that morning and hadn't yet adjusted to the time difference between Chicago and home.

"Has the executives from the studio called today?" Peter asked, walking slowly across the plush, pine green carpet.

"Nope, but it will be any day, I'm sure." Randy assured him. He didn't know what, but something had been gnawing at Peter for the last few months. Suddenly he was paranoid about getting work. He'd accepted any role that came his way, big or little.

"Yes, you're right." Pouring himself something alcoholic, Peter took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. In the dim light of the lamp, he seemed older, more so than usual.

"What's bugging you, Peter, you haven't been yourself for a while." Randy asked, leaning back against the couch, his voice low.

"Nothing, Randy, everything is as right as rain." The actor turned and smiled brightly. It didn't fool his long time agent. He'd seen too many of Peter's performances not to know his tells.

"Bullshit, I don't know what you're doing here, but it hasn't got a damn thing to do with this TV show you're supposed to be researching." The agent's voice grew sharp. Max sat up on his dog bed, listening to the conversation.

"It's for the show, Randy, that's all. I came because my cousin works here at the consulate, I haven't seen him in years, I just wanted to catch up." Peter insisted, throwing back the amber liquid swirling in the bottom of his glass.

"Until a month ago I'd never heard of this cousin, Benton Fraser, and I got to tell you, he doesn't buy this line of crap for a second either." Randy sat up straight again. He hated pushing Peter's buttons but it had to be done.

"There's a lot you don't know, Randy." Peter stared out the window he'd opened that morning. Beneath him the city moved like an ant farm. Red lights, green lights, white lights and neon moved in straight lines along the busy streets in the darkness. Life went on, for good or bad, for everyone down there. They had someone to go home to, someone who would be worried if they didn't show up.

"Enlighten me." Randy challenged.

"It's none of your business, OK, let it go." Peter stood up, moving toward the floor to ceiling window.

"You'd better quit lying, Peter, there's no worse liar than someone's who's lying to themselves." He watched as Peter walked back to the bar and poured himself a double. Frustrated, Randy left the hotel room, letting the door fall hard against the frame. Peter poured himself another glass of liquid forgetfulness.

It didn't take long for the alcohol to take effect. Angry, Peter threw the glass into the stainless steel kitchenette sink. It shattered in a spray of broken glass. Peter balled up his fists. He felt like breaking something, anything, just to feel it disintegrate between his hands and hear the sound of destruction. He wanted to make the fear and anger raging in his heart and mind go away. There didn't seem to be any joy, no light, not anymore. He felt alone, unknown, numb. Tears welled up in his eyes. A shuddering, painful sob erupted from the bottom of Peter's soul. He'd been running for so long he'd forgotten his destination. His head told him one thing but his heart said the opposite. Growing up Ben had been so confident, so smart and sure of himself. Teasing him had made Peter feel better. They looked so similar, how could they be so different? He'd asked himself that question a million times. Tired, more tired than he could ever remember feeling, Peter leaned against the sitting room wall and let himself slide down to the floor. Max came over to his human and sat down beside him. The dog's mournful brown eyes looked up at his human. He didn't know what was wrong but he wished he could fix it somehow.

"Trade places with me old friend?" Peter asked, running his fingers through Max's black and tan fur. "I'll be a stupid dog for a while and you can be me. You're barely smarter than a goldfish and you've got someone who walks you, feeds you and gives you dog treats, what a life." Peter laughed, his voice sounding thick and almost hoarse. Max didn't understand but he laid his head on his human's knee anyway. A sob caught in Peter's throat. He felt so tired.

Somewhere in the night Peter made it to bed still wearing his clothes and shoes. Max trotted into the bedroom and crawled into bed beside his human. Confused, he stayed awake all night as the snoring, unconscious lump lay on his stomach on top of the covers. Max almost wished he could let out a mournful, wailing howl, but he didn't want to disturb his human. Instead he watched him sleep.

Scene Break


	7. Chapter 7 Friday Morning Hangover

_**THUD, THUD, THUD!**_ came from somewhere, Peter wasn't sure if it was the hotel door or his head. He felt his brain cells vibrating with every impact. When Max barked the actor thought his brain or his heart one would explode from the loud noise.

"I'm coming." He groaned as he rolled out of the queen size bed onto the floor. His whole body ached and nothing seemed to be where it should be. Again, the thudding rang out on the hotel door.

"It's me, open up, Peter." Randy's voice hollered from the hallway outside.

"I'm coming, Randy, you don't have to be so loud." The actor couldn't act his way out of a hangover. The horrible way he felt was completely real, too much so to suit him. Randy looked his client up and down. Peter was sickly pale, bloodshot eyes, his hair stood on end, and there was a rough stubble to his cheeks. Shaking his head, the agent dialed room service and ordered a light breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, vegetable juice, and coffee. Peter had stumbled off to the bathroom.

"Benton called a few minutes ago, he said he and Ray were on their way to pick you up." Randy dished out a bowl of food for Max; a little canned food and a little dry. Next came the water bowl. He planned on taking him for a walk after breakfast.

"That is out of the question, call and tell him I've got food poisoning or something." Randy heard the usually dependable actor retching into the commode.

"Get over it, Peter, you've worked through worse." Randy shot back at him, feeling little sympathy for his friend. Getting drunk was his choice. He'd made the blister, now he could sit on it. Peter thrust his head out of the bathroom door, his blue eyes dull and his color a shade paler.

"That's been a few years ago, I'm getting too old, Randy." The actor dragged the rest of his body out of the bathroom and to the couch where he dumped himself like a sack of potatoes.

"Get cleaned up, dress and eat something, you'll feel fine." Randy smiled, his brown eyes disappearing despite his slim face. A knock on the door and a young, male voice identifying the visitor as room service made Peter groan again.

Fifteen minutes later Fraser and Ray knocked on the hotel room door. It was only seven-thirty in the morning. Randy opened the door with a mysterious, slightly sadistic smile.

"Morning, Benton, come one in, Peter will be out in a few minutes." The agent stepped aside for the two officers to enter the generous suite.

"A man could get used to living like this." Ray commented as he looked around the well trimmed hotel room. "This is bigger than your apartment, Fraser." The mountie let him ramble, but it was true, Peter's temporary living quarters would have swallowed his whole apartment.

"Yes, this is very spacious." Ben shrugged. He didn't care about trappings, Fraser was more concerned with the function of his surroundings.

"Morning, Ben, if you aren't bright and shining this morning." Peter walked in from the bathroom, freshly groomed and wearing a green, cotton pullover and a pair of jeans. He hadn't yet put on his favorite, leather shoes.

"Hello, Peter." Ben greeted, his tone bland.

"So, are we ready to get to work this morning?" Peter asked, helping himself to a second cup of coffee.

"Always." Ray grinned, perusing the free newspaper laying on the room service cart. Peter eased himself onto the couch, his shoes ready to be pulled on.

"Where are we off to today?" The eager asked more eagerly than he felt. The actor had rather be curled up in bed with a bottle of aspirin for the rest of the day.

"To the precinct first, Boy Scout." Ray answered.

**Scene Break**

"Morning, Ray, the lab guys have been calling." Francesca bounced up to the three men. It was still odd seeing both Ben and Peter together. "Hello, Peter, how are you this morning?" The smiling Civilian Aide asked coyly. She'd taken extra pains with her hair and make-up that morning, just for Peter.

"Thanks, Frannie." Ray pushed on through the rows of desks, past his sister. Fraser followed, eager to hear what forensics had to say about the jewelry store evidence. They'd made it halfway down the hall to the forensics department before Ben noticed Peter wasn't behind them.

"Oh dear, we seem to be missing someone, Ray." The mountie stopped in mid-stride, turning around.

"I'm gonna kill her." Ray groused, wishing again that his sister had become a nun.

"Whatever for, Ray?" The mountie asked innocently.

"Frannie has always had a thing for guys that are way out of her league." The Italian answered, sighing heavily.

"Francesca is an intelligent, comely, young woman who could have her pick of suitors, Ray." Fraser responded, alarmed that he would have a disparaging word for his sister.

"That may be true, Fraser, but Frannie always sets herself up for failure. She goes after guys that are deadbeats, emotionally unavailable, or seriously screwed up in some way." With a shrug, the cop kept on walking down the hall. When Ray and Ben got back to the squad room Frannie and Peter were seated at her desk. The Civilian Aide sat leaned forward, laughing at every word the actor had to say.

"Hey, Peter, wanna head up to forensics, check it out with us?" Ray asked, a rather snotty smirk on his face.

"Yes, right," It dawned on Pete what he was there for. "I'll call you later, Francesca, have a good day." He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, looking deep into her warm, chocolate eyes. Frannie forgot to breathe. She just stared up at the tall, handsome, Canadian actor, totally blown away. Peter left her with a million dollar smile. Ray rolled his eyes, disgusted with his sister's swooning.

"Alright lover boy, let's go." The Chicago detective stepped in between his sister and her Lothario. Frannie sat back against her desk chair, dazed and dreamy. Ray set off toward the forensics department with purpose. Peter walked behind him, a pep in his step that hadn't been there when they'd picked him up earlier.

"Peter, may I have a word with you?" Ben took hold of his cousin's arm, his grip firm.

"What's on your mind, Bennie?" The actor took a sip of his coffee to hide his still slightly red eyes.

"What is your intention with Miss Vecchio?" The mountie looked him square in the eye as they stood in the hallway outside the lab. A few uniformed officers passed by, their eyes locked on two men who looked so similar but were dressed completely opposite.

"Frannie, nothing." The actor grinned like the cat who ate the canary. Ben's eyes sparked in anger.

"Miss Vecchio seems to think that you and she have a genuine connection." Ben pushed his point, his jaw clenching.

"I don't know why she would think that." Casually, Peter leaned against the mint green wall behind him sipping coffee. "Relax Bennie, she's a big girl, Frannie knows how the world works." He turned to follow Ray into the lab. Lightning fast, Fraser slammed his hand against the wall blocking him.

"Francesca Vecchio is a friend, Peter, I won't see her hurt if I can prevent it." The low, dark growl in Ben's voice wasn't at all what his cousin expected of him. The little boy who'd been so timid growing up wasn't the Ben he saw before him now.

"Alright, Ben, calm down." Peter stepped back, surprised.

"You two coming or what, I don't have all day." Ray asked leaning out of the lab doorway.

"We're right behind you, Ray." Fraser answered with a polite smile. Turning back Peter could see the ominous threat in his cousin's now emerald green eyes. He'd never seen this side of Ben. It shook the actor up for a moment. Ben adjusted his uniform and left Peter standing in the hallway.

"Drew here was just telling me about the foot print from the store heist on Delancey." Ray informed, leaning over a black, lab table. An overhead projector displayed the crime scene foot print while a tall, gaunt, twenty-something tech guy held a printed transparency against the white wall.

"Hello, Constable Fraser, I was telling Det. Vecchio about the profile I've put together of the suspect." Buddy Holly style glasses sat on Drew's long, thin nose. When he spotted Peter walking in behind Fraser he pushed the thick frames up, not quite sure of what he was seeing, his mouth falling open.

"Hello, I'm Drew Davis." He introduced himself to Peter with a shrill voice.

"Peter Gloss, just visiting, researching for a part." The actor shook the loosely jointed hand offered him.

"Like I was telling Det. Vecchio, from the foot print you sent down I made some measurements and as best I can tell the suspect wore a size eleven running shoe, not that uncommon, except that this guy actually wears a size ten and a half on this foot, the toes only come to here," Drew indicated a point down from the edge of the image projected against the wall. "Now, no one's feet are exactly the same size, just like women breasts aren't exactly the same size, depending on which one is on their dominate side and ..."

"Drew, back to this guy's feet." Ray reminded him after Fraser's face had turned a shade darker than his uniform.

"Yes, Sir, anyway, there are several reasons for having two different sized feet, I'm still working on that, but what I can tell you is, this suspect was between five foot ten and six feet, approximately one hundred and eighty pounds, I'd bet on the skinny side of that from the narrower width, and right handed." Drew's eyes shone when he finished the profile.

"Not much to go on is there." Peter said studying the foot print. Something about it bothered him. It was narrow, not what he'd expect from a foot print of this length, even if it were a size ten and a half.

"You never know what will break a case, it all adds up in the end." Ray frowned as he studied the image displayed two feet high on the white, cement block wall.

"It could be a woman who robbed the jewelry store." The actor postulated. Ray and Fraser exchanged skeptic glances.

"He's right, Det. Vecchio, the average American woman's height has been on the rise for the last decade or so, it only stands to reason that her shoe size would too." Drew added helpfully.

"But I thought this was a man's shoe." The detective tried to clarify.

"It is, but men's tennis shoes may be easier to come by, a man's size ten and a half is a woman's eleven and a half to a twelve." Peter said smiling mysteriously. Again, Fraser and Ray exchanged glances.

"How do you know, have you been wearing ladies' pumps or somethin, Peter?" The cop joked. Shyly, the actor shook his head and looked at the wall above Ray's head.

"It's amazing what you learn and what you have to do as an actor, Jackie Chan took cooking lessons for a movie he did not that long ago." He offered as explanation. Ray looked at Peter, his eyes blinking rapidly. Then he began to laugh, remembering Fraser dressed in drag for an undercover operation*

"How many women could there be out there that would fit this profile?" Again, Ray asked, trying to wrap his head around the idea of a woman robber.

"Several actually." Peter answered without looking at Ray.

"Name three." The Chicago cop demanded.

"Nicole Kidman, she's 5 ft. 11in. Bridgette Nielsen, Gina Davis, and the one who played _Wonderwoman _in the 70's, she's six feet tall too." A nostalgic twinkle in Peter's eye and the dreamy smile told of the many hours he'd spent watching _Wonderwoman_ as a boy.

"Yeah, now that you mention it that chick that plays Xena, she's leggy too." Ray nodded, wishing the suspect would turn out to be a leather clad, whip wielding brunette with an hour glass figure with all her sand in the right places. Fraser stayed out of the example portion of the conversation. Instead he mentally recited Canada's National Anthem in an obscure, Inuit dialect.

"Well, we'll just have to catch the suspect and find out." Drew lifted his eyebrows, eager to see what the investigators turned up on this case.

"Were any of the fingerprints identified?" The mountie finally asked, trying to change the subject.

"Oh yeah, those, no, they all belonged to either the store owner or store employees." The lab tech handed over a printed report for Ray's examination.

"Thank you kindly, Drew." Fraser wished the gangly lab guy a good day and left the lab behind Ray.

**Scene Break **


	8. Chapter 8 Suspect List

Ray divided the employee files from _Diamonds on Delancey_ into three piles. He figure if Peter were going to tag along and be a nuisance then he might as well work. As part of the agreement he'd signed with the Chicago Police Department the actor had signed a nondisclosure agreement stating that anything he saw while shadowing Ray would remain confidential.

"What am I looking for, Ray?" The amateur investigator asked as he opened the first file on his stack.

"Anyone who might need the money or has an arrest record." The detective answered, digging into his own pile of suspects.

Fraser hated reading every little detail of people's lives and expecting the worst from them. He'd rather think they'd stolen for some desperate reason and that no matter the reason, it hadn't been for pure greed. Only his father and Turnbull agreed with the optimistic mountie. Still, he soldiered on with his idealistic outlook on life and people.

Reading slowly, trying to make sense of the printed information, Peter tried to keep his breakfast down. He hadn't drank that much, but it had been that long since he'd had a drink. He kept seeing Francesca out of the corner of his eye. She'd been using her compact's mirror to spot the actor without leaving her desk. Quickly, he turned around from his seat beside Benton and winked at her. Ray saw the high school style exchange. Shifting in his seat, the detective kicked his metal desk hard, resulting in a loud bang. Ben looked up surprised while his cousin whirled around embarrassed.

"This may be of some use, the store recently made changes to the insurance policy." Benton held out the relevant page for Ray to examine.

"Yep, they sure enough did, they increased their policy to two million smackers." The detective flipped the paper with his thumb and middle finger. Peter listened but it took him a second to realize the relevance of the change.

"I wonder what other changes Mr. Anderson's made to his business recently?" The actor asked aloud.

"Keep digging, if there's anything it's in the details." Ray sighed. Paper chases were the worst. It took time and energy he'd rather use on something, anything, else. Fraser pulled a yellow, legal pad from beneath a stack of files and began making notes, first detailing the change in the insurance policy.

Two hours later it was Peter's turn to add to the evidence pile. He'd been sitting intently studying files, he brow knit in concentration. At least reading the files distracted him from the monster headache that nagged him.

"Vanessa Allen, 32, of Chicago, she was arrested for assault when she was nineteen, the arrest killed her basketball scholarship to the University of Kentucky." The actor handed Ray the file.

"She could be the suspect, at 5 ft, 10 in, she played offense." The detective handed the file to Benton for his examination.

"This says Ms. Allen was an aggressive player, often fouling her opponents even though they were considerably larger." The mountie's eyebrows lifted as he read the information.

"She's the only one so far to have an arrest record of any sort." Peter observed. Tired, he leaned back against the stiff chair he sat in and massaged his forehead.

"Have you looked at the crime scene photos yet, Fraser?" Ray asked, pulling them from the case file.

"Only a summary skim, why?" Benton asked, speed reading the file in his hand.

"Something about it's bothering me, I just can't put my finger on it." Ray handed the mountie the glossy, color photos. Fraser examined the first photo of the front counter. The glass case sat intact, as did the front half of the horseshoe shaped display case.

"Why would the suspect only take items from the back of the display case? It's almost as if they knew where the most expensive stock lay." Benton took a magnifying glass from the top drawer at Ray's stomach and began to examine the photos in more detail.

"Help yourself to my desk there, Fras." The detective shoved himself out of the way rather than get gouged by the drawer.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ray, how careless of me." The mountie said without taking his eyes off the photo.

"See here, the items at the front of the case are gold plated or silver and as such, aren't worth as much. They can't be melted down as easily as solid gold due to their impurities." Ben reasoned.

"The robber would have to melt it down or know someone who had the equipment, solid gold jewelry has serial numbers engraved on the inside." Peter corroborated.

"Great, two, Canadian encyclopedias." Ray rolled his eyes. As if Fraser alone weren't enough, his cousin had the same, annoying habit of knowing odd, random facts.

"Let's see what else shakes out of the files then we'll go talk to Vanessa Allen." Vecchio picked up another file from his stack and began reading.

**Scene Break**

Eventually the three investigators had to call it a day. It couldn't have come soon enough to suit Peter. Most of his hangover had faded away but the headache hadn't. Just as he was about to walk out of the precinct Frannie caught him by the elbow. She'd been trying to get his attention all day, but either Fraser or Ray had derailed him.

"Wow, my brother's been keeping you busy. Have you learned anything helpful to your TV role, 'cause I can tell you a lot that Ray probably doesn't even know, say over dinner?" The petite Italian smiled hopefully.

"I don't think your brother likes me very much, Francesca." Peter tried to find the right words to say Ray had threatened to rearrange his face if he so much as caught him smiling at Frannie.

"He's my big brother, that's what he's supposed to do, don't mind him." She rolled her eyes, dismissing all of it.

"I don't think it would be such a good idea, to mix business with pleasure, Francesca, but thank you for your offer." Peter tried to squirm his way out of her possessive clutches. Just as he'd smiled down at her, the actor saw Fraser coming back to fetch him.

"Peter, did you mention plans for dinner tonight?" The mountie saw the desperate expression on his cousin's face and swallowed a rueful chuckle. It was his turn to be caught in Frannie's spider web.

"Yes, Ben, yes, definitely, I'm coming, I'll just have enough time to go to the hotel and change if I hurry right now." Peter pulled away, but not before Francesca pinched his scarcely protected buns. The faded denim jeans he wore offered little protection. The actor jumped a foot, yelping like a scalded dog.

"Good heavens, she's hands-on isn't she?" Peter muttered as he walked out of the precinct with Ben.

"Oh, Petie, you have no idea." The mountie responded dryly as he adjusted his Stetson with a smile. If he had a nickle for every time Francesca Vecchio had felt him up he'd have enough money to retire to Yellow Knife.

**Scene Break **


	9. Chapter 9 Plans with Meg

Max circled around Peter when he walked into the hotel room, happy to see his human after a long day apart. The dog's Arctic blue eyes danced as he shook his furry behind. Randy dozed on the couch, phone in hand.

"Hey, fella, I'm glad to see you too." Peter knelt down and began scratching the shepherd between the ears then down the belly as he flopped down at his human's feet.

"Peter, oh, you're here." Randy roused out of his nap, stretching his tired bones.

"Yep, I didn't realize how hard this would be." The actor puffed out his jaws then released his breath, wondering how Benton did it every day.

"Remember that three month shoot you did in Ireland when it rained nearly everyday? Most of those days were eighteen hour days. It was cold and you had pneumonia." Randy reminded him.

"OK, Jimmie Cricket, I remember." Peter frowned at his longtime friend. Randy shrugged.

"How's the case going so far?" The agent asked, changing the subject to something more neutral.

"I think the suspect is a woman. Ben and Ray think it's an inside job. We're going tomorrow to talk to one of the women who works at the jewelry store, she's the right size for the footprint and she's been arrested before." Peter answered pouring himself a glass of orange juice at the bar.

"Sounds like they've got it all under control, case solved." Randy scratched a happy Max as he sat on the couch. It had been a long day. The agent had walked, fed and watered the dog, all the while on the phone with clients, studios, other agents, and an array of secretaries and personal assistants. Sometimes he wondered if the phone would move from his ear he'd been on it so long.

"If anyone can solve the case it would be Ben, he's been training for this kind of thing his whole life." Peter spoke with disdain, taking a seat in the arm chair. He was still rather sore about being told to stay away from Francesca.

"He really sticks in your craw, doesn't he." Randy leaned forward, watching Peter's reaction.

"Who, Ben, no, not anymore." The actor answered, his juice glass obscuring his face. Randy didn't believe him for a minute. He'd been around Peter too long not to know when he was lying.

"Well, I have to get going, I have to call home before I get ready for bed." The thin faced agent smiled, thinking about his daughter. If no one else was glad to hear from him, she would be.

"Tell Rachel I said hello, and tell your ex-wife to dry up and blow away." Peter wished him good night and turned on the television. It was only nine o'clock but he felt like he hadn't slept in days.

"She says for you to break a leg, literally." Both men laughed at the old joke. Peter and Annmarie had never gotten along very well. Sometimes Randy thought he had two wives, Annmarie and Peter.

Five minutes into a _Three's Company_ rerun the telephone rang. Peter finished his juice and picked up the black, plastic handset on the third ring.

"Hello, Peter Gloss here." The actor answered, muting the television so he wouldn't have to concentrate solely on the speaker at the other end.

"Peter, this is Meg Thatcher," She sounded slightly nervous. He could hear the sound of her heels clicking on hard wood floor as she paced.

"Meg, hello, I was just thinking about you." The consummate professional actor lied through his teeth.

"Oh, really, well," Her blush could be heard over the phone. Peter suspected that she didn't talk to men very often in anything other than a professional capacity. It was a shame, he thought, sensing a very passionate, interesting woman beneath her Ice Queen mantle. "I hope I'm not calling too late, I'm sure you've had a long day, but I was wondering if you would be able to have lunch with me tomorrow afternoon around one o'clock?" The inspector's voice grew faint as she asked him out.

"Tomorrow is Saturday, right?" Peter tried to think if he was supposed to meet Ben the next morning or not. "I'm pretty sure I'm free, let me get back to you first thing in the morning, alright?" He grabbed a pen from his jacket pocket and took Meg's home phone number down on a receipt.

"I meant to call and thank you for dinner last night, everything was wonderful." Peter smiled, knowing she could hear it in his voice.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, we wanted to make you feel welcome while you're in Chicago, let you know there's always a piece of home anywhere you go." Meg tried not to gush like a school girl.

"Well, I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow for lunch, Meg, have a good night." Peter stifled a yawn, capping his hand over the receiver before she heard it.

"Tomorrow then, Peter," Her husky voice lingered on his name, "have a good night." He hung the phone up and turned the television volume up.

**Scene Break**

_**Saturday Morning …**_

By seven o'clock Peter was awake, dressed and ready to go. Randy knocked on the door just ahead of the room service cart. Bright eyed and refreshed, the actor answered the door on the second knock.

"Good morning, Randy." Peter held the door open for his agent and his breakfast tray.

"Hello, Mr. Gloss, here's the tray you requested." A young steward rolled the delicious smelling meal into the room and stopped beyond the front door. "Your pet's supplies are on the bottom shelf, have a nice day." The steward lingered until Peter pulled a five dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to him.

"Thank you kindly, young man." The actor closed the door and rolled his breakfast farther into the room. He was famished.

"What's with you, Peter, I haven't seen you this excited at this hour since you were up for that Gemini Award as few years ago." Randy pulled the lid off of the first plate and savored the smell of crisp, Canadian bacon, fried until it was completely done but not burnt.

"I have a lunch date this afternoon with Ben's boss, Meg Thatcher." Peter nearly crowed.

"Say, she's a pretty gal. How does your cousin feel about you going out with his boss?" Randy picked up a triangle of cut toast to nibble on as Peter sat down to begin eating.

"I don't know, I made plans with Meg, not Ben." The actor took up his fork and began with his scrambled eggs.

"What if things go south with this chick, won't that make it hard on Benton, she'll hate him every time she sees him for looking like you." The old agent sat down on the couch. He'd known Peter to be selfish before but that hadn't involved family.

"If she can't tell the difference between the two of us, Meg Thatcher needs to hang up her badge." Peter dismissed him. Randy wasn't so sure. Women were funny creatures, and had funny was of showing their displeasure. Often it didn't necessarily have to be the person they were displeased with that took the brunt of the fallout.

"You are playing with fire, Peter, I'm telling you right now for your own good, pass this skirt up, there's too many others." Randy advised.

"We're all adults, I can make plans with anyone I want. Ben understands that." No amount of logic or wise advice could make Peter see how hurtful he could be. It was middle school all over again. Peter breezed in, stirred up the scene and left Ben to deal with the mess. Randy began to understand the sad, angry look on Fraser's face during dinner at the consulate; Peter had never changed, he's simply gotten older.

"If you say so, don't come bellyaching to me when this blows up in your face." With a heavy sigh, Randy left Peter to eat his breakfast in peace.

**Scene Break**

"Hey, Fraser, you ready to go interview this Vanessa Allen?" Ray Vecchio asked as the mountie and Diefenbaker slid into the Rivera at seven o'clock Saturday morning. Bright, spring sunshine glowed and refracted off the top of the glass towers rising like a fairy circle around downtown Chicago. Despite the warm glow, the ever present wind had a chill to it, thanks to the Great Lakes nearby.

"Yes. Let's stop by the Hilton Hotel and pick up Peter, I telephoned his suite this morning and he's expecting us." Fraser buckled up and stowed his hat.

"Ah, Fraser, so we have to, I'd just as soon not have to answer a thousand questions and try to interview this chick too." The Italian detective groused, turning away from the consulate.

"Ray, he's expecting us." Fraser reminded him. The Canadian had rather have his knife wound re-opened with tweezers than have Peter along but that was the brakes.

"I am so glad we don't have to play tour guide tomorrow, it's Sunday and I plan on watching the game and eating salami sandwiches on rye." He grinned at his perfect, imaginary Sunday afternoon. Fraser wasn't that optimistic but kept it to himself.

**Scene Break**

"Come in, the door's open." Peter's voice rang out. When Ray and Fraser walked in they saw the actor just finishing his coffee, ready to leave.

"Ah, good morning, Ben, Ray, what's on the agenda for today?" Peter saw the lack luster look in the Chicago detective's brown eyes. He knew Ray didn't like him very much.

"We're on our way to interview Vanessa Allen this morning, remember?" Ben toyed with his Stetson as he stood waiting on his cousin.

"Will that take long, I have lunch plans for this afternoon." A mischievous smile crossed the handsome actor's face.

"It had better not be a certain Civilian Aide we all know." Ray stepped forward, laying down the law as only a brother can.

"No, it's not Francesca," Peter's smile tightened, "it's Inspector Thatcher, she called last night and asked if I would be free this afternoon around one."

Ray turned to see Benton's reaction. If he hadn't known the mountie as well as he did, the investigator would have sworn there wasn't a reaction. Ray saw the way Benton's eyes hardened to an emerald green and his jaw clenched and then relaxed.

"That's if it's alright with you, Ben, I wouldn't want to cause any friction for you at the consulate." Peter looked his cousin square in the eye when he spoke. He was deviling him and both of them knew it. Ray thought to himself how ballsy a move that was on Peter's part.

"Inspector Thatcher is free to do whatever she chooses." Ben kept his voice restrained. _"or whomever she chooses."_ He thought to himself. Ben didn't know if he could stand to have Peter in Chicago for another four days. The sooner he left, the sooner the mountie would get his life back.

"Alright you two, we've got a jewelry store clerk to talk to." Without looking back, Ray opened the door and started down the hallway toward the elevators.

_**Diamonds on Delancey …**_

Still swathed in crime scene tape, Mr. Anderson's jewelry store still hadn't opened for business. Workers bustled around the small establishment trying to clean up the mess left behind by the cops. Fingerprint dust lay everywhere and broken glass littered the thick pile, green carpet. Ray took the lead, walking up to the locked front door and flashing his badge to gain admittance. Mr. Anderson unlocked the door himself.

"Oh, hello officers, has there been any word about who may have robbed my store?" The aging jeweler looked from Ray to the two Canadians flanking him. Something was definitely odd about those two. The one in uniform seemed as pissed as a wet cat.

"No, Mr. Anderson, we were wondering if we might have a word with Vanessa Allen, in private please." Ray laid it out on the table for the old man.

"Why? Vanessa's done nothing wrong." Alarm made the old, black man's voice shake.

"Mr. Anderson we have reason to believe the robbery may have been committed by someone in your employ." Fraser tried to smooth things a bit.

"But why Vanessa, she's been a good worker since the day I hired her seven years ago." The jeweler shook his head, pulling a handkerchief from his hip pocket and mopping his face.

"If we could have a word with Ms. Allen I'm sure we can clear this up in no time." Ray persisted, tiring of the old man's sentimentality.

"Vanessa isn't here today, she called in sick last night." Mr. Anderson answered, his rheumy eyes looking faraway through the shop window.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Anderson." Fraser nodded as he turned to leave.


	10. Chapter 10 Lunch at Nyala

Meg woke up early Saturday morning. She had a thousand things to do before she met Peter for lunch. The liaison officer thought a new kind of outfit was definitely in order. She had two dozen skirt suits hanging in her closet, none of them were what she wanted Peter Gloss to see her in today. No, she wanted him to see her as sexy and confident, alluring even. Meg didn't know how all that was to be accomplished with a single outfit. Showering, she thought about how Peter had looked at her when they'd had dinner at the consulate. Those dark blue eyes had seen into her very soul. For an instant, for a flash, she'd been the most beautiful woman ever born; Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, and Marilyn Monroe all rolled into one, brown eyed beauty. Meg felt her heart pound every time she thought about it.

After taking great pains shaving her legs and styling her short hair, Meg began rummaging through her walk-in closet. There were jeans, blouses, skirt suits, dresses, and a dozen other things that didn't meet the mark. Meg began looking in the back of her jam packed closet, searching for something she hadn't worn in ages. Behind coats, sheaths, blouses and an old swimsuit she found a deep burgundy wrap dress she'd bought on impulse a few years back. It hugged her curves like an old friend when she tried it on and studied herself in the full length mirror. Paired with black pumps, diamond stud earrings and a silver cameo she felt she looked like the woman Peter Gloss might just start a out of control, raging fire with. She wanted Peter to hold her like he couldn't bear to release her. Meg ached to be kissed, yearned to be adored openly for a change. She'd hidden her passions for too long, now, with Peter so close, they threatened to overwhelm her. For a split second she wondered if it was because he had paid attention to her or that Peter had shown her the kind of attention she wished Benton would.

"You've gotten into this now, go through with it, Meg Thatcher." She looked in the mirror and told herself to calm her jitters. Still, she felt the nervous butterflies in her stomach and a niggling, uneasy feeling somewhere behind that.

**Scene Break**

Peter left Meg waiting for a phone call until twelve-thirty. She'd sat by her phone for three hours expecting him to call and tell her_ 'No, I won't be able to see you this afternoon'_. Every time a car horn honked or someone knocked on a neighbor's door the lady mountie jumped to answer the phone.

"I see that being prompt doesn't run in the family, Fraser would never have kept me waiting this long. I hope nothing's come up since last night." Meg though to herself. Anxious, she had begun to pace the floor around her apartment. She walked from the front door, past her navy blue love seat to the end of her glass and steel coffee table and back again. Her eyes scanned the oil painting above the brick fire place but didn't see the water color landscape of purple irises, their broad, green leaves searching for life giving sunshine.

When the phone began ringing Meg jerked, startled at the abrupt sound of the electronic device. A ringing telephone is an urgent, angry noise that, usually causing irritation, caused hope in Meg Thatcher.

"Hello, Peter?" Excitement bubbled, barely contained, in her voice.

"Meg, I'm sorry I didn't get in touch with you earlier, are we still on for lunch?" The actor sounded appropriately contrite yet hopeful.

"Yes, why don't we meet at _Nyala_, it's not the finest restaurant but the service is good and the food is excellent." Meg took a deep breath but still couldn't dispel the butterflies storming her stomach.

"That's a fine idea, I look forward to seeing you there." She gave him directions to the restaurant and hung up the phone. As happy as a girl could be, Meg let out a squeal of delight. Quickly, she gathered her black, leather purse and a cream, brushed cotton shawl. The windy city could be cool until late into the spring. With a smile on her face and a song in her heart, Meg Thatcher set off to the dream date of a lifetime.

**Scene Break**

Peter watched the emerald green car drive off into heavy, Chicago traffic down the block from the restaurant Meg had directed him to. Ben hadn't said a word to him the whole time they'd been in the car together. Ray would look at one or the other of them and shake his head.

_Nyala_ stood in the center of a row of brick buildings built before the art deco era of architecture. A forest green awning sheltered the entrance, gold lettering emblazoned on the canvas material announcing the restaurant's presence. A pretty blonde oozing with confidence and dressed in black slacks and a white blouse welcomed the actor when he arrived.

"Welcome to _Nyala_, table for one?" She asked with a catalog model's smile.

"I'm meeting someone actually, a woman with short dark hair and dark eyes." Peter described Meg while he looked around the seating area. When his eyes fixed on her he noticed how she glowed and wondered how Ben could pass up such a gem. "There she is, thank you." Peter walked across the dining area; head held high, a careless grace to his gait. It was one of the few traits that distinguished him from Benton. While Ben had a certain grace about him, it was purpose filled grace. The blonde watched Peter walk away, hating to see him leave but enjoying watching him go.

"Meg, hello, hope I haven't kept you waiting long." Peter sat down across the small, round table from the lady mountie. His Atlantic blue eyes scanned her form appreciatively.

"No, I've just sat down." Meg toyed with her fork as she looked into those deep, mysterious, blue eyes. A waiter suddenly appeared beside the small table along the cream colored wall.

"Welcome to _Nyala_, here are your menus," The young, broad faced waiter breezed through his usual spiel easily, "What can I get you to drink?" He pulled an ink pen from his shirt pocket and an order pad from the apron around his waist.

"I'll have a glass of unsweetened tea, no lemon." Meg began, her eyes barely flitting away from Peter.

"Water, thanks." Opening the menu, he scanned the lunch specials, eying the chicken.

"Be back in a moment." As quickly as he'd arrived the waiter disappeared. An awkward moment of silence passed between Meg and Peter.

"You must travel a lot, on location." She started. Peter looked up from the menu, his fingers still tracing down the chicken lunches.

"Quite a bit, yes, the US, Europe, New Zealand, other places." The actor thought back to the odds and ends places he'd been tramping around for the last several years.

"Sounds exciting, seeing the world." Meg's dark eyes took on a faraway cast.

"It has its moments, mostly it's filming locations, hotel rooms and bad food." Peter tried to make light of it.

"Yes, I suppose." Meg felt shot down. The butterflies in her stomach felt like California condors the longer she sat across the table with him.

"Meeting other actors must be exciting, especially ones you grew up watching." The inspector tried again.

"Really, most of them are quite snobbish, especially if they've been successful." He answered a shade short. He didn't want to eat lunch with a fan. There were enough of those out there to avoid. Peter's statement explained his attitude. Meg had been mistaken when she thought he truly wanted to get to know her. Still the secret optimist, she decided to try again.

"How has your stay in Chicago been so far?" It seemed a neutral enough question.

"Enlightening, thus far, watching Ray and Benton in action is quite an experience." Peter pulled his eyes off the menu and opened up.

"Did you learn anything from the interview this morning?" Lunch guests passed by, their gazes openly directed toward Peter.

"No, they weren't able to find the woman. I left early in order to meet you for lunch." With a smile he winked at her. A surge of hope climbed its way up through the butterflies.

"Here are your drink orders, are you ready to order lunch or would you like a minute?" The waiter carefully set down Meg's tea and Peter's water. He looked to her to go first, having already chosen his chicken dinner from the menu.

The waiter took their orders patiently, his pen working overtime with Meg's special instructions. Peter hesitated a moment, making sure she was finished. He then ordered his lunch, short, sweet and to the point.

"Let me know if you need anything." Smiling, the waiter left them sitting.

"You certainly seem to be a woman who knows what she wants." Peter leaned an elbow on the edge of the table, his chin resting against the heel of his hand.

"Yes, well," Meg didn't quite know how to respond.

"Is that decisiveness present in every corner of your life, Meg?" Peter leaned forward, toying with the glass of water in front of him.

"Yes, I believe it does, it's served me well." The inspector straightened in her chair.

"Even as far as what you want in a man?" Peter's dark eyes took on the kind of leer Meg had dealt with much of her career. She blushed, her cheeks and neck competing with the dark maroon of her dress.

"That, Mr. Gloss is none of your concern." Meg fumed, her dark brown eyes flashing with anger.

"Then why did you call last night and ask me to lunch, on a Saturday?" He continued, a carnal glint in his eyes. Meg's jaw dropped, amazed at his boldness. She narrowed her eyes, her lips drawing into a thin line as she stared at him. The inspector was really outraged when she felt Peter's hand on her knee, easing it's way up her thigh. Out right angry, the lady mountie did what any self-respecting, self-defense trained, officer would do, she took hold of his pinky finger and began twisting while her foot shoved him backward in his chair. He crashed into the chair and table behind him, flipping them over into the aisle.

"You, Peter Gloss, should be banned from re-entering Canada. Anyone who calls you a gentleman is an outrageous liar." Mad as a wet hen, Meg walked out of the restaurant, leaving Peter on his back. She didn't stop at the register to pay for the dinner she'd ordered, figuring Peter owed her that much. It had been a long time since she'd been so insulted by anyone.

After calming down, she saw how her temper could get her in trouble, if Peter reported her to her superiors. She hoped he had good enough sense not to. He'd been the one in the wrong, yet she was the one who felt guilty. Meg hoped she never saw Peter Gloss again, until she realized that he looked almost identical to Fraser. Monday was going to be rough.

**Scene Break**

**Author's Note:** The theme song for Meg's part is "Dreams" by Kenny Chesney from his _**No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems**_ Album.


	11. Chapter 11 Meg's Daydream

Peter lay for a second, knocked out of breath and more than a little embarrassed. Meg was indeed passionate. He hadn't thought what he'd said was so much. No wonder Ben hadn't made a move on her, that woman was a wildcat.

"Sir, are you alright?" The broad faced waiter raced to his aide.

"I will be." The actor shook his head as he sat up among the ruined tables and chairs. His water and Meg's tea had soaked him from head to toe. Flatware littered the floor as did the sugar, salt and pepper.

"What's the matter here?" A red faced man in his early fifties marched up and demanded.

"The lady and I had a disagreement." Peter answered, toweling himself off with the cloth napkin he'd had on his lap. "Don't worry, I'll make things right." Peter began to chuckle, still amazed at Meg's fiery temper.

"Yes, Sir, you certainly will, follow me." The red faced man led Peter to the manager's office to sort it all out.

Eventually, Peter made his way back to the hotel. He was still damp when he arrived at his suite. Randy walked up the hallway behind him, Max eagerly pulling on the leash.

"Hey, Peter, how did your lunch date go?" The agent asked before looking at Peter's wet pants. Turning around, he showed his old friend how the date had gone.

"You were right, as usual." Peter shook his head.

"Ouch, she caused a scene then?" Randy could barely contain his laughter.

"I had to pay for two dinners, two tables, and four chairs. They asked me not to come back." Peter answered as he unlocked the door and went inside.

"Why is that?" Randy didn't see the connection.

"Meg knocked me over backwards, oh, and I think she broke my little finger." He showed Randy the throbbing appendage.

"You really managed to piss her off. How will your cousin take this?"

"I don't know, Ben can be unpredictable." Peter wondered, hanging his coat on a hanger to dry after pulling out a change of clothes from his luggage.

"This isn't over yet." Randy thought to himself.

**Scene Break**

Monday morning Benton arrived at the consulate early to finish paperwork he hadn't been able to get to with Peter hanging around. Turnbull was on sentry duty outside, his eyes staring straight ahead like they always did. Benton didn't see Inspector Thatcher's car so he assumed she wouldn't arrive until her usual, nine o'clock. Hat in hand, the mountie walked slowly toward the closet he called an office. Thatcher's office door stood open a fraction, just enough for her strong voice to carry to the hallway.

"I know, what was I supposed to do though, Peter was a jerk, I've never been so insulted and offended." At Peter's name Benton stopped and stepped back, nearer to the door. One thought kept him from pulling the door open and marching in to see what she was talking about; he was eavesdropping.

"No, I haven't told his cousin, I don't want to cause any trouble between them." Meg's voice grew more faint. "he'll be leaving early Wednesday morning, I've already called and changed his flight to as early as possible. All this will be over in a few days, Mother." Meg finished. Looking through the slightly open door Fraser saw his boss as she stood at the window, her cell phone pressed against her ear.

"I love you too, don't worry about me." She pressed the off button and stepped over to her desk chair. Fraser took that as his cue to get out of sight. He had a lot to think about. Quietly, he made his way to his office and closed the door. Whatever Peter had done had offended Inspector Thatcher deeply. That was intolerable to the mountie. He felt responsible for his cousin's actions.

"What am I to do, Diefenbaker? I can't very well ask Inspector Thatcher what the row was about without revealing my eavesdropping. Confronting Peter won't do any good either, he'll just make light of it or deny anything ever happened." Sighing, Ben leaned back against his worn, wooden chair. Later, at the precinct, before they picked up Peter, Benton intended to ask Ray for his advice. He shelved the quandary for the time being and started in on the paperwork he'd arrived early to catch up on.

**Scene Break **

Meg stepped quietly to Fraser's office door. The keen eared mountiehadn't heard her yet. Silently, she stopped to watch him work. There was something regal about Benton Fraser. He sat tall in the wooden chair he'd chosen for his desk. Ben's broad shoulders filled out the antiquated, red, dress uniform as if it had been tailored specifically to flatter him. Light from the small, high window cast him in profile against the white wall opposite the door. Meg noticed the highlights in his dark chocolate colored hair. Warm sun rays lit his grass green eyes with flecks of dark gold contrasting. She thought to herself how he reminded her of a king she'd seen in a story book long ago. Indeed, Benton was a lot like the king from that story book; kind and wise. He would make a good king.

Meg leaned against the door frame, studying the man seated before her-unguarded. Lost in a daydream, she imagined Ben seated upon a throne of highly polished, rare wood, a smaller, identical one at his left hand, just where she wanted to remain. A wide band of gold adorned his brow, inlaid with glittering, precious stones. Tapestries depicting him slaying lions and dragons hung behind the throne. A highly polished suit of armor stood on his right, waiting for him to go into battle.

Benton's kind eyes held fast her gaze as she walked gracefully down the aisle toward the queen's throne beside him. He stood and extended his hand to help her step up to her rightful place beside him. The smile on his face warmed Meg to her core. Her usual professional dress suit had changed to a long, flowing gown of deep violet. Flowers embroidered in gold adorned the wide skirt and the loose fitting sleeves. A glittering crown sat on the soft, white lace over Meg's head.

"Inspector Thatcher, may I help you?" The smiling mountie asked.

"Hu?" Meg asked, the syllable dropping like a dirty bomb from her mouth. Her daydream faded into jarring reality.

"Are you feeling alright, inspector, you seem dazed, perhaps you have an inner ear infection?" The mountie stood up form his seat and crossed the two steps to Meg's side.

"I'm fine, Constable Fraser, perfect in every way." Meg straightened her stance. She'd been caught off guard and kicked herself for it. There would be no mistaking Benton Fraser for his cousin any time soon.

"Are you certain, Sir, I heard you mumbling." Fraser persisted. He had stepped forward to catch her should she fall. Blushing, Meg ran her fingers through her short, dark hair.

"Nonsense, constable, I am as healthy as a horse." She rolled her eyes at his preposterous notion. Fraser pulled himself back, straightening his red serge like he always did when he was unsure of what else to do.

"Yes Sir, as you say." A tight, polite smile pulled at the mountie's face. When she turned around to leave she heard Fraser's voice.

"Did you need something, inspector?" Fraser asked innocently.

"Oh yes, Constable, Mr. Gloss' flight is at seven on Wednesday morning." She growled to herself.

"I'll be sure to pass the message along, Sir, thank you kindly." Fraser studied Thatcher as she stood framed in the doorway. The navy blue slacks and brown hounds tooth jacket she wore accentuated her hour glass curves, flattering without cheapening her. He wondered if things would have been different between them had she merely been another RCMP officer instead of his boss. Neither of them had any way of knowing. Thatcher turned and walked back down the hallway to her office, leaving Ben with a million questions to ponder.

**Scene Break **


	12. Chapter 12 The Fight

After taking care of paperwork Fraser met Ray outside the consulate. Happy after a weekend without Peter, the detective had a box of _Krisp Kreme_ doughnuts waiting for Fraser and Dief.

"Good morning, Fraser, how was your weekend?" A pleasant smile spread across the long nosed detective's face.

"Fine, for the most part." The mountie answered, his dark brown drawn as he looked at his boots.

"Did you hear from your cousin how his date with the Ice Queen?" Ray wondered, feeding Dief a jelly filled doughnut. The wolf groaned in thanks as he finished off the pastry.

"No, I haven't heard from Peter all weekend, but I have reason to believe the date didn't go very well." Fraser answered, the matter of eavesdropping still on his mind.

"Ah, I'm sure we'll hear all about it when we get to the hotel." Ray rolled his eyes. He wasn't looking forward to listening to Peter brag about going out with Meg Thatcher.

**Scene Break**

Randy grinned like a possum as Peter tried to tie his shoes with his little finger in a splint. Meg had indeed broken it.

"She did a number on that finger, the ER doctor said it was broken in two places." The actor gave him a withering glare.

"When was the last time you went on a date?" Peter asked defensively.

"It's been a while, but it went better than yours, buster." Randy crowed. A knock on the door interrupted the argument brewing.

"I'll get it." Randy threw open the door to admit Fraser and Ray. The detective looked happy enough for a Monday morning. Benton on the other hand seemed preoccupied. He wouldn't look Randy or Peter in the eye.

"Ready to find our suspect this morning?" Ray asked entirely too cheerfully.

"Ready when you are." Peter answered, pulling on a denim shirt over his green polo and khakis.

"What'd you do to your hand?" Ray wondered, his eyes examining the white splint taped around the actor's right pinky finger.

"Oh, this, just twisted it yesterday is all." The actor's smile didn't quite meet his blue eyes. Ben saw the gap and knew it had been Meg who'd broken his finger. The mountie's jaw clenched and he tried not to crush his hat brim. He barely repressed his disgust.

"Well, the sooner we get crackin' the sooner we put this case to bed." Ray rubbed his hands together. The sooner he started the day the sooner it would be over, and the sooner Peter would leave.

"Let's get to it then." Peter clapped his left hand on Ben's shoulder.

**Scene Break **

Ray cruised the street outside Vanessa Allen's apartment building slowly letting Fraser search for the car registered in her name; a 1991, gray, Ford, Tempo. It was difficult to tell the little, mouse colored, compact car from all the others along the block. Three trips around and the trio couldn't find a trace of it or their suspect.

"So, how did the big date with Meg Thatcher go?" Ray began, just to stir the pot a little.

"We had an enjoyable afternoon." Peter answered, looking out the side window. He checked his finger every ten minutes. The thought of the look on Ben's face when he'd announced who his lunch date was with had been priceless.

The mountie kept his eyes forward, steadily examining the cars along the street. He didn't want to see his cousin, hear him, or acknowledge Peter Gloss' existence. Ray saw the way the Canadian's jaw clenched and his mouth pulled into a tight line. Fraser was pissed, but Ray didn't know why. The very thought was eating at him like Piranhas on a ham bone.

"She's a looker, that inspector." Ray pushed, watching the actor's behavior in the rear view mirror.

"Yes, she is an eye full." Peter whistled softly. The wrap dress Meg had worn showcased all her assets. A leering grin crossed the actor's face.

"She's a ball buster though." The detective added, circling the subject.

"You have no idea." Peter laughed. Fraser grew madder by the minute as he sat listening to his cousin brag. For once he couldn't contain himself any more.

"Inspector Thatcher must have taken leave of her faculties to go out with such a shallow, vapid, self-centered, pretender like you." Fraser's voice rose as he turned in the seat to face his cousin.

"She asked me because you never have. You've got a beautiful, passionate woman standing in front of you every day and you haven't made a move to tell her about it. Meg won't wait forever, Ben." Peter pressed his point, leaning into the front seat between Ray and the mountie.

"She won't settle for second best like you either, Peter. You haven't changed since we were boys, you don't care about anyone but yourself." The words exploded like bullets from a gun.

"What do you care, you were always off trying to steal the spotlight. Look at Ben, isn't he just the best, the smartest, the most polite." Peter spat back roughly. Ray looked from one Canadian to the other. Fraser didn't look back at his cousin. Both men's faces were red.

"It was never a competition between us, Petie, I just wanted to be friends." Fraser responded, his volume low as he stared into the face so like his own.

"We were never friends, Ben." Peter growled back.

"Stop the car, Ray." Fraser turned back to look out the front window.

"I can't just stop in the middle of the street, Fraser." The Chicago cop checked his side mirrors. There were half a dozen cars behind him waiting to arrive at their destinations.

"Stop the car, Ray." Fraser demanded again. Ray shook his head and hit his brakes. He'd never heard Fraser use that tone of voice or seen him that angry. Diefenbaker filed out behind Fraser as he got out of the low slung antique.

"Thank you kindly, Ray, I'll see you later at the precinct." Fraser closed the door and began walking down the broken sidewalk along Vanessa Allen's apartment building. Peter leaned back in the back seat, his arms crossed against his chest. Driving around the block, Ray let Fraser get out of sight before he found a parking spot.

"I don't know what the deal is with you and Fraser, I figure it's family business and therefore none of mine, but he's done nothing but bend over backwards to help you out, and you haven't done squat but act like a pompous jerk the whole time. Tell me, do you ever stop long enough to pull your head out of your ass and see how you treat other people?" Ray went off on him, laying it off with his index finger as he looked the actor in the eye and told him about himself.

"I have half a mind to put you outta my car and make you walk into downtown Chicago." The detective groused as he restarted the car and began backing out of the parking spot. Peter's jaw dropped. He sat in the backseat, dumbfounded all the way to the hotel where Ray let him off.

**Scene Break**


	13. Chapter 13 Playing Charades with Fraser

Fraser walked back to the precinct, fuming at Peter, at himself, and at how things had happened growing up. Diefenbaker trotted beside him silently, not offering his opinion one way or another. Long seeded anger, resentment, frustration, and confusion swirled within, each one a separate tower, turning and twisting within the mountie. He felt more alone than he had in ages. Growing up he had felt alone because he'd been an only child by birth. He'd been a unique child as well. Something inside him told that things could be different. A cousin is usually the first person a child has for a friend. A cousin knows how the family works; the intricacies. They're in the same boat, like it or lump it. Ben always felt like his boat was being carried out to sea. Peter's boat might as well have been a Carnival Cruise liner; all lights and up-beat music. Benton didn't know how to bridge the gap between them; he'd tried. None of the answers had presented themselves to Fraser by the time he walked into the precinct. He was torn as to whether he should go to the police precinct or the consulate. If he went to the consulate he'd have to explain to Inspector Thatcher why he'd returned. On the other hand he would rather not see Peter again just yet. It was a quandary he hadn't yet solved.

"Constable Fraser, didn't think I'd see you back here so soon." Lt. Walsh greeted the glum Canadian.

"Ah, yes, Lt. Walsh, I uh," Fraser stammered, "well," he went blank, "I should have gone to the consulate." The mountie turned a shade paler. Walsh nodded, trying to piece together what the unusual Canadian wanted to say.

"Yes, I believe you should, although you seem to spend as much time here as you do at your own job."

"Ah, yes, Sir, I seem to, don't I." Fraser agreed, at a loss as to where to go. "But, you see, Sir, I have a problem, it's imperative that I," The mountie rubbed his forehead as if trying to wipe away his troubles.

"Do you need advice about something, constable?" The lieutenant asked, his dark brows lifted.

"Yes, Sir," Fraser answered succinctly.

"Step into my office, I'll see what I can do." Walsh shuffled into his private space and settled down behind the desk. "Alright, Constable Fraser, give me your scenario." The lieutenant spoke with a smile. Benton stood, his arms behind his back, examining his boots and considering how best to relate his problem.

"This is difficult to say without revealing who I'm referring to directly, Sir." Walsh simply nodded.

"I take it this has something to do with your cousin, Peter," The lieutenant guessed. It was Fraser's turn to nod.

"Something happened between Peter and your boss, Inspector Thatcher." Walsh couldn't get past feeling he was playing charades. Fraser nodded again.

"You're torn between loyalty to family and loyalty to the job, am I right?" The lieutenant sat back comfortably in his chair. Fraser's brows shot up, signaling an affirmative.

"Yes, Sir, you see how precarious this is, Inspector Thatcher is upset with Peter, who is clearly in the wrong ..." The mountie gestured with his right hand, his left still resting behind him.

"How's that, constable?" Walsh inquired, intrigued.

"I'm, ah, that's a rather delicate subject, Sir." Fraser frowned. He didn't want to sully Inspector Thatcher's reputation by mentioning anything.

"I can see your problem, Fraser." Walsh frowned, his brow knitting. "Have you confronted either of them with what you know?" He looked up to see the mountie's face reddening just a shade.

"No, no, I haven't."

"Are you going to?" Walsh asked, knowing the answer before Fraser spoke.

"No, most likely not." The mountie answered truthfully.

"My advice to you is chose between the lesser of two evils, that sort of thing." SceThe lieutenant waved one hand. He was as helpful as he could manage. Fraser nodded, his head tilting to one side as he considered Walsh's advice.

**Scene Break**

Peter walked into his hotel suite, still confused about what had happened in Ray's car. It had made him angry that Ben had called him by his childhood nickname -Petie. He'd always hated being called that childish name. Even _'Pete'_ was too close to suit him.

"What about calling me vapid pretender." Their argument ran through his mind. Peter shook his head and ambled into the bedroom. Max followed his human, eager to see him.

"Hey, boy, at least you still love me." Peter began scratching the happy shepherd down the belly, his tongue lolling out. When Max was done with the belly rub he rolled over on the thick carpet and looked up at his human. The dog sensed a sadness about Peter. He'd been sad ever since he'd arrived in Chicago. Those sky blue eyes and furry face begged him to talk to him, even if Max couldn't understand.

"Do you know what it's like to be the runt of the litter, Max?" The dog turned his head sideways. "It's lonely." Peter eased off the bed and sat on the carpet beside Max. Every summer he'd spent with his grandparents had been the same,_ 'Ben skipped a grade, Ben was offered a scholarship to go to Oxford, Ben cam play Beethoven on his ukelele, Ben can catch anything from a door mouse to a polar bear, Ben saved his wilderness instructor's life last week.' _It all made Peter want to vomit. His parents and grandparents didn't hear Peter had gotten the lead in the school play or how he'd recited Rudyard Kipling's _Gunga Din_ from memory for a talent scout from Vancouver, or a million other accomplishments. Peter had played his fair share of sports in school, dated the most popular girls and restored a '69 Mustang Cobra in college. Somehow even his greatest achievements measured up to Ben's least. The summer Peter turned sixteen he refused to spend the whole summer with his grandparents, instead he worked to pay for a summer camp whose field trip would be going into New York City to watch _Our Town_ on Broadway. His parents had balked at letting him go but he'd saved and worked his butt off to earn the money. While at camp he'd followed the rules to the letter for fear of not getting to go on the field trip. It was the first time his parents saw him as responsible and dependable.

Peter set off to become an actor after that. He'd finally found is niche, his passion. If he wasn't as good as Ben to his parents, his friends made up for it. They knew nothing about Ben and Peter didn't bring him up. That became a habit, not mentioning family. He slowly became his own island that way.

Restless, Peter stood up and grabbed Max's leash from the dresser and hooked it on his collar.

"You want to go for a walk, old friend? We can grab some lunch and eat in the park somewhere." The visiting actor sighed as the dog began wagging his tail, ready to launch himself out the door. Together man and dog left the hotel and began taking the 'Windy City' in by foot.

**Scene Break**


	14. Chapter 14 The Old Switcheroo

**Perhaps if you address the lady**

**Most politely, most politely,**

**Flatter and impress the lady**

**Most politely, most politely,**

**Humbly beg and humbly sue,**

**She may deign to look on you.**

**W.S. Gilbert**_** Princess Ida**_

Turnbull whistled as he sat behind the desk in the foyer. He'd already checked off two-thirds of Thatcher's _'to-do'_ list for the day.

"Constable Turnbull, have you faxed the requisition forms to Ottawa yet?" Thatcher asked expectantly. She'd been crabbier than usual since arriving a full two hours earlier than normal.

"Yes, Inspector Thatcher, an hour ago." He replied with a guileless smile.

"Have there been any calls for me while I was on the phone?" She narrowed her dark eyes at him as he referred to the phone message log on his desk.

"No, Sir, should there have been?" Turnbull waited for her to respond with eyes widened innocently.

"No, constable, I suppose not." The lady mountie frowned. She'd asked him that same question half a dozen times that day.

"Is there someone I could call for you, Inspector Thatcher?" Turnbull queried, picking up the phone in anticipation. Thatcher simply gave him a hateful glare and turned to walk back to her desk. She expected for a call to come down the pike from her superior officer stating that they'd taken disciplinary measures, or that they wanted her to issue Peter a personal apology. She thought her stomach would eat it's way from the inside out by lunch time. By eleven-thirty she had to get out of the office, even if it was just for a few minutes.

"Constable Turnbull, I'm going to lunch, if you see Constable Fraser tell him I want to talk to him in my office before he leaves for the day." Purse in hand, Meg hurried out the front door into the late morning sunshine.

**Scene Break**

After speaking with Lt. Walsh Fraser and Dief walked back to the consulate using the longest route possible. The mountie had things to think about. He could either tell Peter why he'd been so angry with him or he could tell Inspector Thatcher he'd inadvertently overheard her phone conversation that morning. Ben doubted he'd carry out the latter and dreaded the earlier.

"Inspector Thatcher would be very upset if I were to tell her what I'd overheard." Dief looked up at him, "Perhaps I could convince Peter to apologize and the whole matter would be solved." Again, the wolf looked at him, unconvinced. "You're right, he'd never do it." Passing strangers looked at the oddly dressed man who seemed to talk to himself. Fraser took no notice. He continued walking down the sidewalk of a residential area, Dief trotting beside him. "By Jove, I wonder if she could tell the difference between us?" The thought crossed Ben's mind then vaulted out of his mouth. "I could pretend to be Peter and apologize, Inspector Thatcher would be none the wiser." Dief groaned and trotted on ahead of his silly human. "It's not _that_ preposterous an idea." Fraser defended himself. Turning back to look at him, Dief yawned. "Have you got a better one?" The mountie shook his head, exasperated with his furry friend.

**Scene Break**

Fraser looked in the mirror above his dresser. What he planned to do scared the devil out of him.

He'd rather have his nose hair plucked out slowly than to face Inspector Thatcher if she found out he was pretending to be Peter. Still, he felt it must be done. Looking at himself, Benton studied his reflection carefully. He'd stopped on the way home and bought a dark green dress shirt and black slacks for this occasion.

"Oh dear, she'll know immediately I'm not Peter." Fraser groaned, his thumb smoothing his eyebrow. If ever there was a time to back out, it was that moment. Once the mountie had decided on a course of action, he fully intended to carry through with it, despite his reservations.

Ben pasted on his most charming smile in the mirror. "Inspector Thatcher will definitely know if she sees that." He clapped both hands over his face and growled. Waving it off, Ben turned and looked down at Dief. "How do I look?" The wolf stood up, his eyes surveying his human from the toe of his dress loafers to the top of his freshly brushed hair.

"This couldn't be as difficult as all that." The mountie thought back to his own, lengthy resume of skills. Somewhat resentful, Ben recalled the things Peter had said to him earlier that morning. What ever his flaws, the mountie had made peace, for the most part, with himself long ago. Looking again at the mirror, Ben shrugged before turning away. What will be will be he figured.

Still apprehensive, he set off toward the consulate. Diefenbaker pouted when he told him to stay in the apartment. The wolf was a dead give away. Fraser already had enough on his plate without having to explain Dief's presence.

Constable Turnbull stood on a step ladder beneath the chandelier in the foyer with a cleaning rag in one hand and a can of cleanser in his belt.

"Constable Fraser, good afternoon." The younger mountie greeted him as he stepped down the ladder. Fraser felt his mouth go dry.

"Wrong one." Ben smiled congenially, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from fiddling with anything.

"Mr. Gloss, I'm sorry, please come in." Turnbull put out his hand to shake, not realizing he still had the cleaning rag draped over it. Fraser just looked from his hand to his face without shaking hands.

"Oh my, pardon me, is there something I can do for you?" Turnbull set the step ladder out of the walk way and led Ben/Peter to the sitting room.

"Yes, is Inspector Thatcher," He paused, feeling the mistake as it rolled off his lips. "Is Meg in today?" Saying Inspector Thatcher's Christian name felt odd to Ben.

"Yes, she's in, but she's out." The junior mountie answered in his usual, round about, confusing manner.

"Is she in or is she out, Constable Turnbull?" Fraser asked, not at all surprised by Turnbull's manner but confused by his answer.

"Inspector Thatcher is working today, so she's in, but she's currently out, to lunch that is." He corrected. There were scrambled eggs with more cohesion than Turnbull.

"Oh, where to might I ask?" Ben hoped it wasn't with Peter or his cover would be blown.

"She simply said she was going to lunch, would you like to leave a message, Mr. Gloss?" The junior mountie asked perfunctorily.

"Ah, no, I'm sure I'll see her before I leave Chicago." Fraser smiled brightly. He knew where Inspector Thatcher went when she wanted to be alone. After leaving the junior mountie to his chandelier polishing, Ben/Peter made his way toward the park nearby.

Deceiving Turnbull wasn't particularly difficult but the longer he carried on the charade, the easier it became. Ben was amazed at how easily he put on a different style of clothes and morphed into a different person. As Peter he noticed there was more of a swagger to his usually efficient stride, he was more at ease among the city dwellers of Chicago, and a few ladies along the way eyed him appreciatively as he casually strolled down the sidewalk, his hands still in his pockets.

"This is easier than I thought." The disguised mountie thought to himself. Turning a corner and walking into the park Ben didn't feel so confident anymore. He slackened his pace, eying Meg as she sat at a picnic table in the early afternoon sun. Strands of her hair moved across her face as a breeze caressed her skin. With a sigh she closed her eyes and leaned on her elbow against the rough, wooden table, her legs crossed at the ankles, extended before her in the vivid, green grass. The fuchsia skirt she wore showcased her well shaped legs as she let a flat loafer dangle from her big toe. Cultured pearls stood out against Meg's cotton candy pink blouse. Standing there watching her so unguarded, he recalled Peter's words about her; a beautiful, passionate woman.

"I should know better than he how passionate she is." Ben whispered, thinking of the kiss they'd shared on top of a runaway train. Taking a deep breath, he pasted on a smile and stepped closer.

"Beautiful," Meg's eyes opened at the single word, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "weather that is." Her guard back up, Meg slipped her foot back in her loafer and straightened her posture. Ben was sorry to see the change in her but said nothing.

"Mr. Gloss, this is unexpected." She meant to continue but couldn't think of anything to say.

"Sorry to disturb you on your lunch hour, Meg, I came to apologize for Saturday." Ben/Peter dug at the corner seam of his slacks' pocket from the inside, trying not to fidget. Usually he played with his hat or stared at his boots when nervous. Peter did none of that. Meg pursed her lips and cocked one eyebrow, expecting to hear a load of bullshit.

"I took leave of what little common sense I had, I am truly sorry I offended you, Meg." Ben/Peter studied her reaction as he stood on the cement sidewalk looking down at her. She turned her face away then quickly her dark eyes flashed up at him. He would never know how her heart beat furiously in her chest or how she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from giggling like a giddy school girl. Meg told herself none of that would do for an RCMP officer of her standing.

"Well, Mr. Gloss, I accept your apology." She responded smugly. Ben/Peter felt relieved to hear those words. "Laying your hand on my thigh was completely uncalled for, and unappreciated." Thinking about lunch Saturday refueled her anger. Ben/Peter nearly swallowed his Adam's apple. Peter had always been a cad, but he hadn't realized to what extent until then.

"Oh dear, yes, well, it will never happen again, you have my word." Ben/Peter stood up straighter. It took everything in him not to pull his hands out of his pockets and put them behind his back or stand with his feet square with his shoulders in parade rest stance. Meg looked at him, her long, dark lashes framing her lovely, brown eyes as she blinked a time or two. Peter's words sounded quite familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd heard them before.

"Time will prove your sincerity, Mr. Gloss." She examined him a moment before looking into the distance.

"Allow me to walk you back to the consulate, Meg." Ben/Peter offered, genuinely wishing to stay in her company a while longer. She turned her gaze back to him, a quick, authentic smile lighting her whole face.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Gloss." She stood up and slipped her hand through the arm Ben/Peter offered her.

Neither Ben/Peter nor Meg were in a hurry to get back to the consulate. When Ben/Peter began walking toward the park exit Meg gently tugged on his arm and inclined her head toward the path leading around the perimeter of the grassy expanse. A few people walked their dogs, others sat on benches to enjoy the sunshine and eat their sack lunches brought from home. The silence the Canadian pair shared was a comfortable one. Ben felt the weight of her hand on his forearm and enjoyed the feeling. It reminded him of a black and white picture of his parents on their wedding day as they stood with arms linked, waiting for the photographer. He wondered if he would ever feel as completely happy as his parents seemed in that picture.

Meg almost pinched herself as she walked beside Peter. She couldn't believe he'd offered her his arm like a white knight out of her daydreams. A girl could get used to being escorted along on the arm of a tall, handsome man. Peter lacked the stiff formality of his cousin. That formality, that detachment, made it difficult to get to know Fraser for the man he was on the inside. Meg knew Fraser to be a caring, loyal man; a true friend if ever there was one to be had. She didn't want to be his friend. She wanted to be swept up against him and kissed without hesitation. Meg decided to take what she'd been given for the afternoon and be thankful.

Eventually the pair meandered their way back to the consulate steps, Meg's hand still resting on Ben/Peter's arm. Skyscrapers had begun to cast shadows as the sun passed it's prime, on it's path further west. The after lunch traffic had dissipated and the rush hour hadn't yet begun to choke the city.

"Here we are, the Canadian Consulate, home, sweet home." Ben/Peter laid his free hand over Meg's as they stopped at the foot of the front steps. For a long moment she looked up at him, the afternoon sun at his back. She struggled with herself, desperately wanting to tip-toe up and kiss him. Unfortunately, ever the professional, she wrested the urge back into it's proper place.

"Yes, the consulate." Her voice carried more sadness than she realized. Looking at the shadow at her feet, Meg felt Ben/Peter's finger lift her face by her chin and gaze into her eyes. She felt her knees begin to weaken.

"I've had a very nice walk with you, Meg Thatcher." His voice, she _felt_ his voice more than heard it. She couldn't make her mouth form words, her brain in a muddle.

"Yes, walk, nice." She felt his free hand take hers and, as soft as a baby's sigh, he kissed the back of her hand. Stunned into silence, Meg watched his dark green figure fade into the distance before she had the presence of mind to collect herself and walk up the consulate steps. Turnbull's "Hello, Inspector Thatcher." jarred her back to her dismal reality.

"Oh, it's only you, Turnbull." She walked right past the smiling junior mountie and into her office. She didn't get much done the rest of the day.

**Scene Break **

**Author's Note: **

Henry, Lewis C., ed. Five Thousand Quotations for All Occasions. Pg. 312. Garden City. Doubleday. 1945.

P.S. I love this book of quotations ! =)

Ben/Peter means Ben as Peter.


	15. Chapter 15 The Smell of Fear

Peter walked along the lake shore, deep in thought. Max enjoyed smelling the breezes and seeing the waves lapping against the cement barrier. Aimlessly, the actor looked out toward the north, toward home. He thought for a moment how it wasn't actually home anymore. The last several years Peter had been bouncing around the globe chasing his star, chasing the next leading part. Part of him had grown tired of the lifestyle. Taking on a television series sounded like a rest. It might mean eighteen hour days on the streets of Chicago but at least he would have the same place to lay his head at night. The city had a reputation for the arts and culture, he wouldn't be missing those. Besides, what was a little southern snow to a dyed in the wool Canadian?

If everything worked out Peter knew he would be staying around and that would mean dealing with Ben. He didn't know if Chicago was big enough for the both of them. Peter sat pondering this on a bench facing the lake when he saw a familiar face in the distance.

"Vanessa Allen?" He asked himself. The photograph in her file had been from years before but she hadn't changed that much. She slowly walked toward him, her long, tan coat whipping in the breeze. Beneath it she wore a mid-shin length, teal skirt, flat, gray shoes and a white blouse with pearls. A white man as tall as she was met her on the bench only fifteen feet to Peter's left. Quickly, he rummaged in his jacket pocket for his cell but only came up with mint gum and his little, black book, organized into blond, brunette and redhead sections.

"Blast it, of all the times to forget my phone." Max turned to look at his human who sat muttering to himself. "Well, I can't help it, I'm not the law enforcement officer, Ben is." Peter laid it out, talking with his hands. "If only I could hear what they were saying." He was torn between sitting there and taking a stroll past them. On one hand, if Vanessa had robbed the jewelry store she had a gun in her possession. On the other, it might all be a misunderstanding. Peter wracked his brain, trying to figure out what he should do. He'd only ever played a cop on television.

"Ben was right, I am a pretender." Peter groaned as he watched the former basketball player and the unidentified man talking on the bench. As quickly as they'd met the two got up and walked in different directions. Peter really was in a pickle. Since they already knew about Vanessa Allen, the actor decided to follow the mysterious man. Taking Max by the leash, he let the man walk a few yards head of him. If the mystery figure suspected Peter, he didn't show it. Once, when the man stopped to let a lady with a stroller have the right of way, Peter knelt down and pretended to adjust Max's collar. The dog looked at his human like he'd started speaking Pekinese. Peter's palms were sweaty and he kept Max's leash taunt, something he rarely did. Waves of nervousness and tension rolled off Peter like the waves rolling out in the seemingly endless lake only yards away.

"There's his car, let's see if we can get a license plate number for Det. Vecchio, shall we." Peter spoke low to Max as he studied the black, Chevrolet Lumina. It had been freshly washed and waxed. The hubcaps and chrome trim still glistened. Peter estimated that the car had either been washed in the last two days or stayed in a garage somewhere. Kneeling down beside Max again, he memorized the plate number.

"This will take the wind out of Ben's sails, he'll see he's not so superior." Peter muttered to himself as he watched the Chevy drive away.

**Scene Break**

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Francesca grinned up at Peter as he came hurrying into the precinct. Max sniffed at their feet, smelling Dief on nearly everything. With his eerie, blue eyes, the dog looked up at the vibrant Italian. Detectives and uniformed officers roamed the precinct, each of them with a different destination in mind. Voices buzzed around the large, mint green space.

"Well, who is this darling?" She ran her hands through Max's thick fur as she stood beside her desk. He liked her, she smelled of sweet, cinnamon rolls and something else he couldn't place. Whatever it was told him this human female wanted to mate with Max's human, and soon.

"Oh, hello, Francesca, is Det. Vecchio around?" He ignored her question. The actor seemed antsy, looking down at the palm of his hand.

"No, he hasn't shown up yet. Is there something I can do for you?" She offered, her double meaning lost on the distracted Canadian. He raised his eyebrows, "Do for me," Peter considered what he should do with the information literally in the palm of his hand. "Well, yes, there is, can you run this license plate for me?" Quickly, the actor picked up an ink pen and jotted down the numbers and letters on a Post-It note and handed it to her. Not sure what he wanted but willing to play along, Frannie sat down at her desk and pulled up the computer program.

"Sure, someone cut you off in traffic or something?" She studied his troubled face with pleasure as her fingers flew over the keyboard

"Something like that." Peter walked around the desk to stand beside the Civilian Aide. He leaned down to read the results. At first he didn't feel Frannie's fingers creeping through the curls at the back of his neck until her fingertips tickled his ear. He jerked away like someone had pinched him.

"Miss Vecchio, please, I'm trying to help with this jewelry store case." Peter's voice rose an octave before he realized it.

"Alright, alright, don't get your briefs in a twist, shew." She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her roller chair. A lead pencil danced as she kept her eyes on him, studying every detail of his face, from the faint laugh lines around his deep blue eyes to the way his lips ended in a slight dimple. Frannie couldn't help but let out a long, wistful sigh. She didn't hear Peter ask her twice to print the information for him. When he waved his hand in front of her face she finally came back from Frannie's Land of Lust. She groused at herself for going there, it would mean a whole new round of Hail Mary's and volunteer work at the church as penance.

The single, white page rolled off the printer across the room. Expertly, Frannie pulled the perforated edges off and handed it to Peter. Her fingers lingered on the page, making him lock eyes with her. He saw the coy, come-hither look in her eyes and realized how he must have looked to Meg a day and a half ago.

"Thank you, Miss Vecchio, I would appreciate it if you would keep this between the two of us." He decided if she were going to gain pleasure being around him, he might as well gain her silence.

"Ah, no problem, like I said, if there's _anything_ I can do for you, let me know." Francesca purred, her dark eyes liquid pools of desire. Peter swallowed hard as she closed the gap between them, the printed page crumpling as she moved him into the dark corner around the printer.

"My word, uh, Miss Vecchio, I really must be going, Max, my dog Max, he needs to go." The actor was wholly unprepared for her persistence. Somehow he slid out of the dark corner and found Max sniffing at Ray's desk.

"You'll let me know, right?" Frannie called after him. He'd already crossed the squad room by the time she turned around. Peter looked like a deer in the headlights when he turned to look back. Frannie smiled wolfishly and sauntered back to her desk one hip at a time in her navy blue skirt.

**Scene Break**

Ray circled the block around the consulate twice, expecting to see the red clad Canadian waiting for him on the corner somewhere. He then headed to the precinct and around Fraser's apartment building, nothing either place. After that the detective figure the mountie didn't want to be found just yet. Alone, Ray went back to _Diamonds on Delancey_ to see if he could spot Vanessa Allen's car. He had a hunch she would contact Mr. Anderson. Something told her they were in the robbery together.

When he didn't spot the Ford Tempo, Ray found a parking spot down the street and waited. Without Peter around asking a blue million questions, the detective could think about the case for himself. Mentally, he assembled a _'to-do'_ list; re-read the background check on Anderson and re-examine his financial records from the beginning, as well as the reports from the previous robberies. Ray rubbed his eyes in anticipation of how tired they'd be when he got around to reading all that.

Over the years the detective had become an expert in using his side mirrors for suspect surveillance. Sitting along Delancey Street was just another practice run. The mug shot he'd memorized from her file replayed in Ray's brain. All in all, she'd been a pretty young woman. Ray had rather not have to fight with her, but that's why he carried a handgun, an equalizer. Two hours into his rear view surveillance he spotted an uncommonly tall brunette walking into the jewelry store.

"Bingo, Vanessa, returning to the scene of the crime." Quickly, Ray got out of his car and jogged up the street to the jewelry store. He plastered a smile on is long nosed face and entered the establishment. Through the large, front windows he spotted Vanessa. Reaching for his badge, Ray called,

"Vanessa Allen, I would like to speak to you a moment." She turned on her heel. He hadn't realized how much shorter he would feel when he met her face to face. Ray flashed his badge and took a deep breath.

"Yes, Officer?" She smoothed her long, teal skirt with one hand and grabbed her purse strap with the other. Mr. Anderson's dark eyes studied the detective suspiciously.

"Let's step into Mr. Anderson's office a minute, if we may." The store owner shuffled toward the back of the small store and unlocked the door.

"Here you go, Det. Vecchio." Anderson opened the door then stepped back.

"You too, pops, something about this case smells funny and so do you." Ray hooked his thumb toward the office. Vanessa and Anderson exchanged glances, which didn't ease Ray's suspicions at all.

"Why are you questioning me about the robbery, detective, I wasn't at work that day." Vanessa began, her hands folded primly in her lap.

"That's kinda the reason, Ms. Allen, see I think this robbery was a set up by someone on the inside, someone who knew where the most expensive goods were displayed." Ray leaned against the wall of the miniscule office. It was a 6X10, white walled, closet of a place. A calendar picture of the Grand Canyon hung on a cork board above an old, metal desk. Other than that the office was colorless.

"I thought it was a man who robbed the store." Ray couldn't tell if it were a statement or a question.

"From the tapes, it could have been big foot for all I know." The detective wise cracked. "The suspect was approximately six feet, average build, wore a ski mask, jeans and a jacket. Now, I've compared surveillance footage of you exiting the door and the suspect, it looks a lot alike to my eyes." Ray lied, but it was a necessary evil of the job. He was just glad that Fraser wasn't there to contradict him.

"How does this have anything to do with me, detective?" Vanessa Allen crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him from the metal folding chair.

"You are the only one who wasn't at work that day, you have an arrest record, and you fit the physical profile." Ray didn't blink. He wasn't afraid of her, or so he told himself anyway. Vanessa Allen's face reddened and her eyes narrowed.

"So does two-thirds of Chicago, detective, come back when you have something." Vanessa stood up, drawing to her full, considerable height. Ray suddenly had the mental image of his head begins squeezed between her powerful hands. "As for my arrest record, that was a long time ago and if you'd check up on it, you'd see that I was attacked by two girls I'd beaten the night before, but because I defended myself with a beer bottle and too poor to hire a fancy lawyer, I was the one charged." She leaned forward. Ray was more intimidated that he showed. He looked up at her and gave her a sickeningly sweet grin.

"I'll do that." Ray stood his ground for a moment before leaving the confines of the office.

**Scene Break**


	16. Chapter 16 Playing a Part

Still enchanted by his afternoon with Meg, Ben walked to the precinct. Still dressed in the dark green shirt and black slacks, he walked up to Ray's desk and sat down.

"I thought I dropped you off at the Hilton, what are you doing here?" The exasperated, Italian detective looked up and shook his head.

"You did." When the detective couldn't tell if it was a question or statement he looked more carefully at the Canadian seated in front of him. First Ray looked at Ben's hands; no finger splint. Then he spotted the mountie's watch on his left wrist.

"Bennie, is that you?" A surprised grin spread across Ray's face. Fraser just nodded.

"What's with the wardrobe change?" Ray looked around to see if Frannie were anywhere nearby. Just as he looked back at Ben she came in through the front entrance.

"Oh, Peter, I have more on that license plate number you wanted me to run earlier." Frannie's voice carried across the squad room as she made a B-line for Ray and Fraser. The two, crack investigators looked at each other, surprised and confused.

"Play the part, Bennie, let's see what this is all about." Ray mumbled quietly before Frannie could saunter over. Fraser nodded.

"Frannie, where have you been?" Ray asked, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

"I had to go with Ma to her doctor's appointment across town since you couldn't be bothered to take a day off." The saucy Italian pointed at her brother.

"You know I have a guest shadowing me this week, besides, she doesn't want me going to her gynecologist's office with her." Ray rebuffed. Fraser swallowed hard and hoped Francesca didn't turn to him for his opinion on gynecologist's offices. The siblings locked gazes for a moment, neither of them speaking aloud.

"What kind of info do you have about that license plate, Francesca?" Fraser decided to take the bull by the horns and dodge the gynecologist question at the same time. Frannie stuck her tongue out at Ray before turning to answer Ben/Peter.

"I kept digging see, and the guy the car is registered to has been in jail for fencing stolen goods, jewelry." Frannie smiled, proud of herself for coming up with a clue in the case.

"Do you have a copy of the information you gave, uh, Peter earlier so I can put it in my case file?" Ray asked, staring daggers at his sister.

"Yes, I made you a copy too, Ray." She pointed to a sheaf of papers laying beneath his elbow.

"Thanks, Frannie, now disappear, OK."

"I will not, how dare you say something like that in front of Peter, I mean Mr. Gloss." The Civilian Aide fumed, her cheeks beginning to turn red.

"What were you doing running a license plate for him anyway, that's privileged information."

"He asked me, nicely, the way you shoulda." She leaned down, her face only inches from Ray's.

"If I may, Ray, we should really look into this man, he may be Vanessa Allen's fencer." Ben/Peter interjected. He stood up, trying to distance himself from the argument.

"You mean fence, and I'll be right there, Bennie." Ray stood up, his jacket in one hand the file in the other. Fraser froze and Francesca's jaw dropped.

"Peter." even as he said it, Ben/Peter felt Francesca's eyes begin to examine him from head to toe.

"You deceived me, Constable Benton Fraser." the detective's little sister accused him using his full name as if he were a child.

"Yes, Francesca, but Ray told me to do so." He stood with his hands behind his back, red beginning to glow on his face.

"Come on, Fraser, let's go see what that Canadian ham has gotten into." Ray tugged on his arm.

"Don't you mean Canadian bacon, Ray?" Fraser asked as he followed the detective out of the squad room.

"No, I mean ham." Francesca stood watching as the two disappeared, still fuming but she wasn't sure over what exactly.

**Scene Break**

Peter found a cab outside the police precinct and gave the cabbie the address listed for the Chevy Lumina. His hands were sweaty as he petted Max more to calm himself than to reassure the dog. Confused, Max kept looking up at his usually confident human. Peter's skin had paled when he thought of what he was going to do. After all, he'd only ever _played_ a cop. Alone in a foreign city, without backup of any sort, even without a cell phone and here he was chasing a potentially dangerous, underworld character, the Canadian prayed nothing happened. Looking down at Max, Peter was glad he had the blue eyed fur ball with him.

Mr. Anthony Devlin lived in a lower class neighborhood that had been grand only half a century before. The house he rented was tidy enough but tired looking. A new paint job and a bundle of shingles would have done it a world of good. Peter arrived in the taxi after Devlin had begun taking his groceries inside the house. The actor had the taxi stop at the corner of the street and paid the fair in Canadian currency, much to the cabbie's ire. Peter gave him enough of a tip to make the fuss worth it. With Max's leash firmly in hand he began walking down the street slowly, casting his gaze to the side where the short, plump man leaned over into his car trunk. The space was easily large enough to hide a body. All Peter saw was a few brown, paper grocery bags and a watermelon in the trunk. He felt rather silly when he realized he'd tailed the man on a grocery run instead of a clandestine deal with underworld thugs. Even Max snorted when he saw his human shaking his head.

"Here I've gone and played detective, heavens, Benton would have a laugh at my expense if he knew." Peter said to himself as he watched Anthony Devlin take one, brown bag under his arm then reach back into the trunk. The Canadian stopped in his tracks when he saw Devlin pull out a silver handgun and shove it into his belt then pull his jacket around his girth and zip it up. Thankfully, the suspected jewel fencer didn't turn around to see the stunned actor glued to the same spot for a full two minutes staring at him. Peter didn't get hold of himself until Max began tugging on his leash and whining.

"Huh, what?" He asked the furry shepherd as he looked up at him. "Yes, yes, right, I'd better go to Benton with this." Peter puffed out his cheeks, his mind spinning.

**Scene Break**


	17. Chapter 17 Death of a Career

"Ray, he may not be a real investigator but Peter doesn't lack common sense." Fraser argued.

"Bennie, I know he's your cousin and you've known him longer, but I think Peter has something to prove, I think he's gone off to play detective searching for Anthony Devlin." Ray reiterated as he hung a right, a yellow light changing to red above their heads. "What is the deal with the two of you anyway, I've never seen you fly off the handle like you did this morning." The Chicago detective glanced at his unofficial partner who stared out the window, his features unreadable.

"In confidence?" Fraser asked, sure Ray wouldn't tell anyone.

"Yeah, in confidence, scout's honor." The detective grinned as he drove the green dream toward the run down neighborhood Devlin's vehicle registration listed.

"I overheard Inspector Thatcher's conversation this morning as I passed her office, quite by accident mind you. She told whomever she was speaking with that Peter was a jerk and that she'd never been so insulted and offended. The inspector told them that she hadn't yet told me because she didn't want to cause problems between us." Ray whistled softly when he heard Thatcher had wanted to spare Fraser trouble. He didn't think the dragon lady had a heart.

"So, that's why you blew your top at him this morning, for being a jerk to the boss lady Saturday at lunch." The detective didn't see the chivalrous logic to it, but he admired the mountie anyway.

"Precisely." Ben responded as he began searching the neighborhood driveways for the Chevy.

"That's also why you changed clothes and pretended to be your cousin so he could apologize for being a jerk?" Ray tried to follow the mountie's logic.

"Yes, Ray, I wouldn't want there to be tension between Peter and Inspector Thatcher should he end up filming here in Chicago." Ben explained as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Bennie, I really didn't." Ray shook his head as he let the Buick roll down the street at its' own speed.

"Have what in me, Ray?" Ben asked, dismayed.

"The ability to deceive people, Fraser, to lead them on, pull the wool over their eyes." The detective shook his head.

"I have worked undercover before, Ray." The mountie sounded miffed as he continued scanning the street from his side.

"Yes, but it's not what you're actually good at, Fraser, you're more of a hanging onto a rope, dangling from a helicopter, catch the bad guy with one hand type." Ray shrugged. He'd seen Fraser use the truth to turn a suspect too many times.

"Nonsense, Ray." He poo-pooed the notion easily.

"You did it so that you would get to talk to Thatcher without having to call her _'Sir'_, admit it. You like her but you can't do anything about it because she's your superior officer, it's against that messed up code of conduct you live by, but pretending to be Peter you're free to make a move on her." Ray laid it out, talking with his free hand as he drove.

"That's preposterous, Ray, I don't have a clue what you're talking about." The mountie shook his head. His Chicago partner had hit too close to home for comfort. What little time he'd spent with Inspector Thatcher, masquerading as Peter, had been wonderful. Ben hadn't had to call her _'Sir'_ or feel the awkwardness between them when she looked at him. After all, she hadn't seen Ben, she'd seen Peter when her eyes met his. He'd been able to express himself freely without fear of standing sentry duty in retaliation. Rank hadn't meant anything between them. Ben would never admit to all that though and Ray knew it. Still, the detective saw the resignation to all of it on the mountie's face.

**Scene Break**

Peter tried not to run down the street after seeing Devlin pull a handgun out of the trunk. Max whined as he slowed his pace. The young dog felt like seeing all there was to see, and in a hurry. A breeze blew a familiar scent across the shepherd's keen nose as they walked. Peter's heart beat like a rock concert drum when the dog began barking. He searched the street for Devlin but saw Ray's big, green Buick instead. For the most part he was glad to see it rolling toward him. He began waving his arm to catch Ray's attention.

"Let me in, please." Peter blurted out after Fraser rolled down the window. The mountie and the detective exchanged glances but Fraser got out to let Peter and Max into the back seat.

"You are in deep trouble, you manipulated my sister into running a license plate for you then you took it upon yourself to follow a known felon." Ray's voice was barely contained as he began the lecture.

"Ray, now isn't the time." Fraser interjected, even though he agreed with Vecchio.

"For once, I agree with Ben, now isn't the time, I saw Devlin pull a handgun from the trunk of his car and put it into his waistband as he carried his groceries into that house there." Peter pointed toward a narrow, white, two story with an enclosed porch.

"A handgun, are you sure?" Ray asked, his eyes studying the actor in the rear view mirror.

"Yes, I saw it with my own two eyes, I was walking Max up by the lake when I saw Vanessa Allen and Devlin meet. They sat down on a bench for a few minutes then they both left, heading in different directions. Since you already had information on her I decided to get his license plate number then I went to the precinct looking for you both. Frannie, I mean Francesca, asked me if there was anything she could do for me I decided to take things into my own hands." Peter rambled, his words sounding rushed. "I didn't initially intend to follow Devlin, I, I don't know what I was thinking." The actor shrugged then leaned back against the seat.

"Well, we got nothin' to get a warrant with." Ray shrugged as he eased down the street. Ben and Peter looked at each other, disgusted that something like that could slip through the system.

"Ray, Devlin's file lists him as a convicted felon," Ben began.

"You want me to go to a judge and tell him that a Canadian actor was out walking his dog and just happened to see a convicted felon, a total stranger, pull a gun out of his trunk and stuff it down his pants?" The detective wondered incredulously, his voice rising.

"Yes, Ray." Both Canadians answered in unison. The detective shook his head, now he had them in stereo.

"Sheesh, working with Canadians is gonna be the death of my career yet." Ray turned the Buick toward downtown and kissed his chances of a promotion any time soon.

Scene Break


	18. Chapter 18 Turned Against

"How do we link Vanessa Allen, Mr. Anderson and Anthony Devlin to the jewelry store robbery?" Peter asked as he settled down into a chair across the desk from Ray. Fraser turned his hat around and around in his hands. He'd stopped and retrieved his uniform. Dressed in red serge, Ben felt like himself again.

"Phone records, bank accounts, the devil is in the details." The detective shrugged as he leaned against his desk. He'd had enough of this case.

"Well, we know that Vanessa Allen and Anthony Devlin are connected and that she and Mr. Anderson are connected, so we must figure out how Devlin and Anderson are linked." Peter laid it out aloud.

Something was missing, but what neither of the three could put a finger on what.

"What I could use right now is Vanessa Allen sitting in one of those interrogation rooms, ready to spill her guts to us." Vecchio groused. Has it been said that he'd had enough of this case and enough of Peter Gloss?

"There's always tomorrow." Peter sighed, a disappointed expression on his face.

"And tomorrow is your last day." A very pleased grin pulled all the way across Ray's face.

"You know, I get the impression you don't like me very much, Detective Vecchio." Peter looked him square in the eye.

"You're absolutely right." Ray nodded.

"Ray, that's not very nice." Ben admonished.

"You don't like him either, and he's your cousin." The detective argued back.

"Yes, well, that's beside the point." It was Peter's turn to say that wasn't nice. Ben swallowed hard having stuck his foot in his mouth so far he tasted knee cap. Ray saw the gaff and stepped in, if there was anyone he wanted Peter to go away mad at, it wasn't Fraser.

"Listen, Petie, you came waltzing into my precinct, flirt with my little sister, which I do not approve of, then you manipulate her into running a license plate number for you and go off half cocked without backup." The detective began ticking off Peter's list of crimes.

"My name is not Petie, it's Peter." The actor rose to his feet, indignant at the slight. Ben stood quietly beside the filing cabinet. "Aren't you going to say anything, Ben, as usual?" The dark gleam in Ben's green eyes met his cousin's blue eyes. From the set of his jaw to the way the corner of his mouth twitched, Peter could see how restrained Ben kept himself.

"Inspector Thatcher will be very interested to hear about this." Peter's threat was thinly veiled.

"Do what your conscience dictates, Peter." Ben spoke low, his voice taking on an ominous tone.

"Yeah, I'm sure she'd like to hear how you were charged with obstruction of justice for not turning the Devlin information over to us sooner." Ray stood up too. The longer he was around Peter Gloss the less he liked him. The actor's face blanched.

"That's the end of it I suppose." Turning on his heel, Peter walked out of the precinct. Passing Frannie's desk he dropped his visitor's tag in the trash can and disappeared.

**Scene Break**

Randy sat on the couch in his hotel room, the phone in one hand and a turkey sub in the other. Max lay on his spare doggie bed in the corner sleeping. He'd had an exciting day with his human. There'd been so many new smells and things to see.

"Yes, baby, I'll be back for your birthday, even if I have to leave early, OK." Randy smiled as he talked to his one and only daughter. He missed her terribly when he couldn't see her regularly. The agent nearly dropped his late lunch when he heard the heavy knock on the door.

"Sorry, baby, but someone's knocking, I'll call you back before bed time," He waited to hear her say she loved him then said, "I love you too." Randy turned off the phone and answered the door. Peter blew in like a March wind, his face red and his fists clenched.

"What in the world is wrong with you?" Randy stepped back for his old friend to have the run of the room while he paced, furious. Just under a shout, Peter began recounting his day. Patiently, Randy listened to how he and Fraser had argued in the car that morning, seeing Vanessa Allen meet with Devlin, getting the info from Frannie, following Devlin and then the gun. Randy's eyes widened when he heard the last part.

"I can see their point, you coulda gotten shot." The agent sat back on the couch and picked up his sub.

"Not you too." Peter felt like the world had turned against him. With some of the wind out of his sails, the actor left Randy's hotel room. He even left Max laying on the spare doggie bed.


	19. Chapter 19 Tuesday Morning

Tuesday morning dawned with a smattering of clouds covering the Windy City. A stiff breeze off the lake promised rain and a day of general dreariness. Peter's alarm went off at it's usual time-too early. He flipped the annoying, electronic device off and rolled back over for another few hours sleep. What was the point of getting up if he didn't have to? Neither Ben nor Detective Vecchio wanted to see him and that was fine with the actor. He'd only been trying to help and what thanks did he get?

Peter had asked Randy the night before to call the consulate and tell them he had to cut his visit short a day. He intended to spend the day loafing around the hotel, take in lunch somewhere nice and packing his things to leave at the butt-crack of dawn Wednesday.

Across town Ben took one last look at himself in the mirror before heading out the door. He wouldn't have to pick Peter up, which was fine, he'd rather have to play the bongos naked in Time's Square than to spend another day gritting his teeth, playing nice with Peter. Still, he didn't like the way things had gone down between them. Ben hadn't seen another living relation in almost two years, just Bob Fraser when he deigned to come out of the ether for whatever reason.

"I suppose this is as good as it gets." Ben looked down at Diefenbaker. The half wolf just turned his head to one side and peered back at him.

"Yes, well, not all of us are colorblind." Sighing, the mountie pulled on his Stetson and headed for the front door. He had to check in at the consulate before meeting Ray at the precinct and time was wasting.

**Scene Break**

Nathaniel Anderson wiped his forehead for the hundredth time that morning. He didn't like what he had to do, but it had to be done. A sergeant at the front desk yawned as he stood behind the counter. His tired eyes had been forced to stay open for the twelfth night shift in as many days.

"Hello, is Detective Vecchio in this morning?" Anderson's voice sounded like tin being dragged down a gravel road as he approached the desk. The sergeant blinked a few times before answering.

"Let me call back and see, just a moment, please." With the receiver between his shoulder and his ear, the sergeant dialed an extension and waited for a moment.

"Detective Vecchio, I have someone here asking for you, shall I escort him back?" The sergeant asked in an emotionless tone. When he'd received his answer he nodded then hung up the phone.

"Follow me, Sir." With a tired grin the sergeant ushered Mr. Anderson toward Ray's desk in the back of the bull pen.

"Hello, Mr. Anderson, what brings you here this morning?" Ray sipped his coffee and studied the aged black man slowly seating himself in the chair opposite the detective.

"I came to talk to you this morning about the robbery," He wrung his leathery hands for a moment before wiping his brow again.

"We're still investigating the robbery, Mr. Anderson, there's not much to report." Ray didn't want to lay his cards on the table until the old man had.

"When you and your Canadian friend said you thought it was an inside job, it was," All ears, Ray leaned forward and began taking notes. "Vanessa approached me a few months ago, asking for a loan, a large loan. She didn't tell me at first but later she told me that a man had been skulking around her apartment. He finally came up to her one day and told her that he knew her secret and if she didn't help him rob the store he'd tell her fiance about what happened while she was in college, that he had proof and if that didn't work, he'd contact the police." the old man's eyes looked around the large room as if he suspected someone were going to overhear them. "Vanessa showed me pictures of a dead woman this guy had given her a copy of. She swears she didn't do it, that she'd already left the University of Kentucky when the woman was killed but that she'd threatened her before leaving over that bar fight that ruined her scholarship. She swore me to secrecy, Det. Vecchio." Mr. Anderson took a deep breath when he finished, as if the weight were gone.

"How does all this lead to robbery, Mr. Anderson?" Ray wondered, ink pen in hand as he collected his thoughts.

"Detective Vecchio, Vanessa has been a wonderful employee in the years she's been with my store, she knows the store inside and out. I placed the most expensive jewelry in the back on purpose, just so she'd know where to get it when she came to rob the store." A guilty expression filled the older gentleman's wrinkled face.

"You and Vanessa Allen planned for her to rob the jewelry store then?" Ray's eyes narrowed.

"No, we never spoke of it, Detective, but from the way she seemed distracted and skittish all the time I knew it was only a matter of time until she did. I thought that if I made it easy for her to get the most valuable merchandise it would give her a head start with the police and with whomever's blackmailing her." He seemed genuinely concerned for the younger woman. "I was wrong, I know that, but I'm well insured and she seemed so desperate, I didn't know how else to help her." The old man shrugged as he wiped his brow again.

"Have you been in contact with Vanessa Allen, has something changed?" Ray picked up the phone and began dialing the consulate.

"Yes, she said she met with the blackmailer yesterday on the lake shore, he wants more money and Vanessa said he showed her a handgun under his jacket." The old man leaned forward, an urgency to his tone.

"Do you know where she is now, Mr. Anderson?" The jeweler shook his head.

"I tried to get in touch with her last night and again this morning, I even drove past her apartment and the place she said her fiance lives, I couldn't find her car and no one at her apartment building has seen her since yesterday morning."

Ray heard the blonde mountie answer the phone on the third ring. "Is Fraser there yet?" The detective spoke hastily.

"Yes, I believe he just walked in, Detective Vecchio, here he is." Ray heard the mountie's voice on the other end.

"Bennie, I need you to go get Peter, I need him to ID the guy from the lake shore yesterday." It took a moment for Fraser to respond.

"Yes, certainly, let me inform Inspector Thatcher." Fraser tried to delay the odious task.

"We haven't got time to wait on the Dragon Lady, Fraser, leave her a message or somethin', Devlin's been blackmailing her and her boss says he can't find her." Time was of the essence.

"Understood, Ray, I'll be there as soon as possible." the next thing Ray heard was the dial tone.

"OK, Mr. Anderson, I need you to make a statement of everything you've just told me and write down Vanessa's fiance's address, I'll start beating the bushes." The detective's words put a hopeful smile on the old man's face.

**Scene Break**

Ben left Insp. Thatcher a note and gave Turnbull his instructions before leaving. Sometimes he wondered who was smarter, Diefenbaker or Turnbull. At least Turnbull was house trained, mostly. With a resolute frame of mind, the mountie set off toward the Hilton, Dief in tow.

Arriving at the hotel suite, Ben was surprised when his cousin or Randy didn't answer after a minute. Across the hall the door jerked open and Randy stepped out into the hall in his bare feet. He'd been dressing for the day when he heard the loud knock on Peter's door.

"I thought the consulate told you Peter wasn't going today, he's decided to cut the trip short a day." The slight built man ran a hand down his thin, pale face.

"Yes, I was aware of that, but you see, Det. Vecchio needs Peter to come downtown to identify the man he saw yesterday along the lake shore with Ms. Allen, it's vitally important, the young woman is missing." Randy's eyes popped open a shade when he heard that last part.

"I'll phone his room, that usually does the trick." A mischievous twinkle danced in the agent's eye before he turned back to his room. It only took a few moments before Peter flung open the hotel door and stomped out into the hall. His hair stood up in a million different angles around his head and he still wore only his pajama bottoms.

"I know what you're trying to do, Benton Fraser, but it won't work." He put his index finger beneath the mountie's nose as he stood in the hall looking ridiculous.

"Peter, this has nothing to do with our quarrel, a young woman's life may be in danger." Ben kept his tone civil, somehow.

"You never were happy unless you were stealing someone else's thunder." The actor didn't back down.

"Be reasonable, Peter, I never set out to steal anything from you, I don't steal. Right now I'm simply asking you to cooperate with us on this, Vanessa Allen may have been kidnapped or she may have decided to rob another jewelry store to meet her blackmailer's demands." Ben tried hard to keep his temper from overflowing as it had done the day before. Peter looked him dead in the eye, studying his cousin. He could see the agitation in Ben's face but he was telling the truth as he knew it.

"I won't do it, you have enough to solve the case without me, I wish I'd never arranged this trip." Peter backed away. He ran his fingers through his hair, making it worse, if possible.

"We have to put this aside for the time being, Peter. You're many things, I don't think heartless is one of them." It took everything in Ben to say those words. Peter wanted to be cruel but couldn't find it in him. A gentle spirit was one of his few redeeming qualities. Sure, he could be crass and thoughtless, but Peter had a soft spot for people in trouble.

"Grrr, let me get my clothes on and a cup of coffee before we go." The actor capitulated.

"Thank you kindly, Peter." Ben smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

**Scene Break **


	20. Chapter 20 Huey's Dirtywork

Max walked eagerly along side Peter as they left the Hilton. He could feel the tension rolling off of his human like water off a duck's back. The actor had pulled on a pair of jeans, a pastel green polo and his favorite, brown leather shoes. Randy had invited himself along for the ride. For the most part he'd let Peter go off and do his thing with the cops. Now that the case was heating up he wanted to be on hand in case Peter did something that he'd have to spin down later. It was a quiet elevator ride, neither cousin breaking the silence between them. Dief joined the trio outside the hotel. He and Max greeted each other in usual, canine fashion.

_**At the Precinct ...**_

"Hey, Fraser, I see you brought the whole tribe." Ray teased as two Canadians and two dogs followed him through the squad room. The mountie let it slide.

"Good morning, Mr. Anderson, I believe you've met our guest, Peter Gloss." Ben introduced the aging jeweler to his cousin. Briefly, the two shook hands as Randy hung back, watching.

"I've always heard everyone has a twin, but you two are living proof it's true." Mr. Anderson looked from Fraser to Peter and back again.

"Peter is my older cousin, Mr. Anderson." Fraser smiled politely. Peter glared at Ben and cleared his throat.

"Frannie, could you do us a favor and get coffee all around?" Ray motioned his sister over to the group. She shot him a _'go die somewhere'_ glare before she realized who stood around his desk.

"Just a minute." In no time flat Francesca had handed out the five cups of coffee and offered the gentlemen an assortment of creamers and sweeteners. The Civilian Aide positioned herself between Peter and Ben, her eyes darting from one to the other of them. It was almost a fantasy come true, if only either of them were interested in her charms. She wouldn't mind making herself into a Canadian sandwich. Ray looked at her a moment without speaking.

"Frannie, don't you have other things to do today?" The detective waved her out of their way.

"Just enjoying good company, Ray, don't get your shoes in a knot." She rolled her brown eyes and walked away.

"She's persistent." Peter mumbled.

"Yes, quite." Ben agreed. It was the first either of them had spoken since leaving the hotel.

"Mr. Gloss, I need you to give us your statement about what you saw along the lake shore yesterday afternoon." Ray quickly filled him in on Mr. Anderson's statement. "We need to find Vanessa Allen ASAP." The actor felt a little let down that so little had been required of him.

"I was walking Max along the lake when I saw Vanessa Allen, she met a man, they were almost the same height I remember. The man and Vanessa Allen sat down on the bench a few meters away and talked but I couldn't hear what they were saying. After a few minutes they both got up and went in different directions. Since you already knew about Vanessa I decided to follow the man. I took down his license plate number and what I could see of his car." Peter leaned back against the filing cabinet, his elbow resting on top of it as he rubbed his face.

"Did you see the man's face, Peter?" Ben asked.

"Yes, briefly, why?" The actor straightened up. His features took on a concerned, confused cast.

"Was it the same guy you followed?" Ray added.

"Yes, I believe so, I watched this guy, Devlin I believe, unload groceries from the trunk of the car, carry them inside. When he went to get the last load I saw him take out a handgun and put it in his waistband then zip his jacket up to cover it."

"Did you see Vanessa Allen after she left the lake?" The detective jotted down notes as he listened to Peter recount his afternoon.

"No, I haven't seen her since."

"How did you know it was Vanessa Allen?" Ray pressed. He wanted to make certain this case wasn't overturned on a technicality.

"There aren't that many women out there tall enough to dunk a basketball, and I saw her picture in the files we read and the surveillance tapes." Peter grew tired of all the questions. He wanted to be done with the whole thing so he could go back to the hotel to pack.

"Alright, we need to find Vanessa Allen before she does something dumb. Mr. Anderson, I'll get a squad car to watch the store. You can go home and relax. Bennie, you and.." That was all the farther Ray got. Lt. Welsh stepped into the circle, his shadow crossing the desk.

"Det. Vecchio, may I have a word please?" Welsh beckoned Ray with one beefy hand. The detective stood up and followed his commanding officer a few steps away from his desk, out of earshot.

"Vecchio, before you send the mountie and his cousin out into Chicago you might think about how badly this case could go if the DA finds out they were turned loose without supervision." Ray shook his head, he knew the DA already didn't like him.

"Yes, Sir, it's just that I can't leave Mr. Gloss in the same building alone with Francesca, he might file a harassment suit." Ray countered. "She thinks he's the greatest thing since Brad Pitt." Welsh's eyebrows rose.

"You have a good point, get Huey to babysit the actor, the last thing we need is a harassment suit and the bad publicity." The lieutenant nearly whispered.

"Will do, Sir." Ray turned back to the business at hand. He hated to but he had to ask Huey for a favor.

Before returning to his desk Ray stopped by Huey's. The African-American detective had his nose in a file but saw Ray anyway. From the thinly veiled, pained look on the Italian descendant Huey knew Ray would hit him up for something. He kept reading the file, letting Vecchio sweat.

"Hey Huey, what are you up to?" Ray began with a smile.

"No, Vecchio, No, to whatever dirty work you're about to ask me to do for you." Huey met Ray's gaze, his dark brown eyes hard.

"Welsh wanted me to ask you to take Peter Gloss' statement while Fraser and I look for a suspect." Huey didn't budge.

"Look, Huey, do this for me and I'll owe you one. Gloss isn't that bad." Ray watched his fellow detective mull the proposition over for a moment. Mostly Huey watched Vecchio squirm.

"OK, but when I call the favor in it will be a big one." Huey tapped his fist on the desk.

"Thanks" Ray grinned before returning to his desk.

**Scene Break**


	21. Chapter 21 The Truth Revealed

First on Ray's to-do list was a cruise by Vanessa Allen's apartment. He suspected she'd hidden her car somewhere out of sight. He wanted to ask Vanessa about what it was Devlin had to blackmail her over. As long as he'd been investigating crime he still didn't understand why people did the things they did.

"Do you think Vanessa Allen is guilty, Ray?" Fraser asked out of the blue.

"I don't know but she's acting like she is." The detective answered. Rain had begun to drizzle just enough to make the windshield blurry.

"How did you get Peter to come down to the precinct, I thought the two of you still had a beef?" From the way Fraser turned to look out the window, Ray knew the fight wasn't over.

"I appealed to his good nature." That made the detective laugh out loud. "What's funny about that, Peter may be self-centered, vain, thoughtless, egotistical, and shallow, but he isn't heartless, Ray." The mountie laid out his cousin's faults without reservation.

"You wouldn't be the least bit bitter or jealous either." The detective quickly glanced at his friend, trying to judge his reaction.

"Jealous, that's preposterous, what does Peter have to be jealous of?" Fraser gestured as if to wave Ray's claim away.

"He's not Superman dressed as a Canadian Mountie for Halloween like you are, but he's certainly got a way with the ladies, he's good a parties. He likes to show himself off and for whatever reason, people like that sort of thing, that confidence I guess." Ray shrugged.

"Peter has always had a knack for striking up conversation with anyone." Ben had to admit he envied the way his cousin could find something to talk about with anyone, especially women. Speaking to an attractive woman on a professional basis was easy but when it got beyond the weather Benton was in over his head. Nothing seemed to ruffle Peter. He seemed to be at his best with a pretty girl nearby.

Fraser thought about the differences between him and his cousin as they took the elevator to Vanessa Allen's fourth floor apartment. Virginia Apartments had been a bright, new building after the baby boom. Most of the residents living in the red brick building were working class people or had retired.

"401, here we are." Ray referred to the gold numbering on the door. Not expecting anyone to answer, he knocked lazily. "Vanessa Allen, police, open up please." The detective almost fell over when the door opened abruptly. A wide eyed Vanessa looked from the Chicago detective to the Canadian mountie in confusion. When she'd thought of the police knocking on her door, coming to get her it never played out like this. The street clothes wearing detective fit but the big, red mountie threw the nightmare for a loop.

"Yes, what do you want?" She answered tersely.

"Ms. Allen, you boss, Mr. Anderson, seems to think you're being blackmailed." Ray started off in a rather loud voice. Vanessa's eyes darted back to the front room behind her.

"Quieten down, please, let's talk about this somewhere else." She whispered as she stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

"Mr. Anderson seems genuinely concerned about you, Ms. Allen." Fraser added, studying her reaction.

"He would be, stupid, old man's a softie." Vanessa leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. Even in a relaxed posture she stood taller than Ray.

"Who's blackmailing you, is it Anthony Devlin?" The detective tried to stare up at her menacingly but couldn't quite pull it off.

"Devlin," She sighed tiredly. "yes, he has pictures of a girl I played ball with dead. She started taunting me, she had a real hate on for me. I don't know why. Anyway, she told those girls from the opposing teams about me being a scholarship student and they gave me hell on the court. I had an attitude problem back then. Being the tallest girl in school isn't easy, all the boys are a head shorter and the girls can be catty. By the time I got to middle school I'd quit trying to fit in with the girls my age and began playing sports. A lot of the girls were jealous because I'd play basketball with their boyfriends. I didn't want their boyfriends, I just wanted someone to play a game of hoops with. With good grades and some luck, I got into UK. The teasing and bitchiness only got worse, I was good, better than a lot of the other girls 'cause they were afraid of getting really physical, of getting hurt. I got a reputation for being a brute. Well, the rest is history, you've read my arrest record." Vanessa looked beyond either cop, her memory playing before her on the opposite wall.

"When did Devlin approach you, Ms. Allen?" Ray didn't want to hear her troubles, he wanted to wrap this case up and send Peter back to where ever.

"Devlin Devlin tried to sell me some a three carat diamond ring about six or seven months ago. I knew immediately it wasn't genuine and I told him about it and called the cops. He said he'd get even with me, called me a few choice names and left the store. I didn't tell Mr. Anderson about it, I didn't want to cause trouble. About three months ago Devlin met me at my car. He showed me pictures of that girl and said he'd be in contact with me and that if I told anyone he'd call the cops on me and tell my fiance." Vanessa's hands began to shake as she spoke of Anthony Devlin.

"Why didn't you inform the authorities, Ms. Allen?" Fraser wondered, his hand moving round and round in his hands.

"I chicken out, I didn't want to tell my fiance, Marcus, he doesn't know about what happened in Kentucky." Tears fell from the woman's eyes.

"It would be best if he heard what happened from you, Ms. Allen." Fraser pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Thank you. You're right, I just thought I could put it all behind me and move on with Marcus." Vanessa dried her eyes and handed Fraser back his hanky. "If you'll come in, I guess now's as good a time as any to tell him, he's in my apartment." She took a deep, shuddering breath before straightening herself and walking down the hall.

**Scene Break**

"Detective Huey, is this really necessary?" Peter asked as he sat drinking his third cup of coffee. Francesca had made sure he was comfortable. The vivacious, Civilian Aide passed by as much as she could muster without seeming obvious. Peter tried not to encourage her but it was difficult when Ray and Ben weren't there to keep an eye on him and she was so, entirely cute. Welsh took care of chaperoning Frannie, assigning her the task of reorganizing his files in the cabinet in his office. She could see Peter through the blinds but at least she wouldn't be underfoot.

"Detective Vecchio wanted your statement, Mr. Gloss." Huey responded noncommittally. Max whined, he'd been sitting on the cold, tile floor for two hours without a break.

"I have to take Max here for a walk if you don't mind, then I'll be back." Peter motioned for Randy to start toward the door. Huey thought nothing of the request.

Peter walked Max along the street, stopping as the shepherd wanted. Randy followed casually. He knew Peter well enough to know he was up to something but he couldn't put his finger one what exactly.

"Peter, I can see the wheel turning in that brain of yours and I'm afraid of what comes next." Randy finally spoke up. The actor turned and gave him an innocent smile.

"I'm just walking Max, that's all, we both needed to stretch our legs." Peter pulled Max short on his leash. Randy heard his words but smelled bullshit and tons of it.

"Nah, I'll believe it when I see it."

"Then believe it because you're seeing it, if Detective Vecchio wants something, he knows how to get in touch with me." The actor shrugged as he started walking off toward the Hilton, Max's head high as they trotted along the sidewalk. Randy stood stock still, considering whether or not to follow. In the end he decided not to, he could claim plausible deniability later.

**Scene Break**


	22. Chapter 22 Uncle Bob's Ghost Stories

Peter hated lying to Randy. He comforted his conscience by telling himself that if his agent didn't know anything then he couldn't be justly accused of wrongdoing. It almost sounded convincing.

The first thing Peter did was hail a cab. Years of memorizing lines had given the actor quite the recall power. He'd only seen Vanessa Allen's address a few times yet it only took him a moment to tell the cab driver their destination. Rain began pouring as the cabbie maneuvered the Gemini Cab Company's car through the busy streets of the Windy City. Cruising by the Virginia Apartments, Peter saw the green dream Buick parked along the street. He swore softly as he told the driver to pull over. With Max in tow, Peter paid the cabbie and wished he'd thought to bring an umbrella. The rain stung his face and plastered his hair to his skull. Duck tails feathered out behind his ears, humidity wreaking havoc on his usually polished style.

"I guess we'll just have to stay out of sight, Max." Peter knelt down to make sure the shepherd's collar was secure. The dog looked at him, it's unearthly blue eyes patiently staring at him. Max was the picture of canine loyalty. Standing, Peter looked around to find somewhere out of the weather to stand and watch the apartment's front entrance. He found the shelter of a neighboring building's canopy. When he saw Ben and Det Vecchio leave the building with Vanessa Allen, Peter flipped the collar of his trench coat up like a character out of an old, Humphrey Bogart film until they drove out of sight. Turning, the actor stared up at the red, brick building, wondering what to do next. He hadn't really formulated a plan when he'd walked out of the precinct. Lost in thought, he almost missed seeing the woman's car leave the apartment's parking lot. A man of about thirty-five drove the little, mouse colored Ford, the seat pushed as far back as possible. He still looked uncomfortable driving the compact car.

"That's her car. If she's with Ben and Ray then who's driving her car?" Peter said aloud to no one in particular as he stood holding Max's leash. "and where are they going?" For a moment he considered fishing out his cell phone (he'd made sure to have it in his pocket) to call the precinct, then thought better of it. Quickly, Peter and Max started off down the sidewalk after the car. Driving in a soggy Chicago took time, enough so that anyone on foot made better time. Fortunately, Peter found an empty cab waiting to merge into traffic and told the driver to follow the Ford.

"Are you serious, Mister, this ain't some TV show 'er somethin'." The chunky, middle aged driver looked at the soaked actor in his rear view mirror and waved a sausage-like hand.

"I can make it worth your time." Peter pulled out a large note from his wallet and handed it to the cabbie.

"This ain't the right color, Mister." Peter rolled his eyes, he didn't have anything but small bills in US currency.

"It's Canadian." He growled.

"Still ain't the right color." The cabbie insisted. Peter shook his head at being shook down. He pulled another large bill out of his wallet.

"Finding someplace to exchange this might take a while." The cabbie's hand didn't move as he complained.

"Incredible, just wonderful, and you wonder why American's have a bad reputation abroad." Outraged, the actor laid his last big bill in the cabbie's hand. A satisfied smile played over the man's chubby features as he looked at Peter in the mirror. Max looked at his human and shook his head, a groan escaping his throat.

"Have a nice visit." A mocking chuckle erupted from the corpulent driver as they merged into traffic and started their surveillance.

Yards full of flowers and blooming trees decorated Chicago's neighborhoods. The better the neighborhood, the more flowers grew outside nice, brick homes. By the time the cab turned onto the street Peter had walked down just the day before there weren't very many daffodils or forsythia bushes to be seen. The actor immediately recognized the Ford's destination.

"Devlin!" Peter's eyes widened as the Ford's turn signal indicated he intended to pull into the fencer's drive way.

"Now what, you want out here?" The cabbie asked as he slowed down for the little car to turn.

"No, no, keep going, I'll tell you when to stop." Peter plastered himself to the window to see the Ford driver's face. He wanted to be sure he recognized it later.

Turning down the street, Peter had the cabbie let him off in a bus stop shelter. He immediately pulled his phone out and dialed information. Minutes and connections later, Peter heard Frannie's voice on the other end of the line. She wasn't who he wanted, but the actor was glad to hear a familiar voice anyway.

"Francesca, this is Peter, I need to talk to Ray, or Ben." Not so much Ben, but Peter had to tell it to someone.

"Det Huey nearly blew an artery when you didn't return from walking your dog." She sounded in no hurry to connect him to Ray.

"I'm sorry, Francesca, please, put Ray on the line." Peter tried hard not to sound like he was pleading.

"Sure, just hold your horses." Frannie sighed, tired of playing secretary.

"Ray Vecchio," The detective answered.

"Yes, Ray, this is Peter, I'm standing at a bus stop near Anthony Devlin's house," Ray cut him off before he could finish.

"I asked you to do one, simple thing, Mr. Gloss and you've screwed that up." the detective's tone of voice was tense to say the least. Peter didn't dare entertain what Ray would do with him when he caught up to him.

"Ray, let me talk to Peter, please." The actor heard his cousin's voice in the background.

"Hello, Peter, this is Benton, where are you exactly?" Ben's voice reminded Peter of their grandmother's exasperated tone from their childhood.

"I'm at a bus stop near Devlin's house, I was outside Vanessa Allen's apartment and saw a man drive her car out of the lot, so I followed him." The acting sleuth explained hastily. He could just imagine Ben rubbing his eyes as he listened.

"Are you certain it was her car you saw?" Ben asked, still exasperated with his cousin. Peter rattled off the car's make, model, and license plate number.

"He's certain, Ray." Peter heard Ben speak, the receiver muffled by his hand but not well enough.

"Tell him to stay put and we'll be there in a minute, I'm gonna strangle the snot out of him when I get my hands on him." The detective told Benton to relay to his cousin.

"I heard him, Ben, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." Peter grumbled. He didn't like being ordered around like a child but he didn't like the prospect of sneaking around an armed robbers' house either.

After Ben hung up the phone Peter took a seat on the bus stop bench. Max settled down at his feet to wait with him.

"Why do I do these things, Max? I thought they'd be grateful I helped them with this case. Ben's always treated me like a wet dog at a picnic whenever I've tried to help him. I pretended to be him and talked to girls so they'd talk to him when I left and all he ever did was get angry. As long as I live, I'll never understand Bennie." Max listened intently to every word Peter spoke. When he finished the soaked shepherd shook himself off and laid down Sphinx- style on the concrete.

"You could at least feign some sympathy for me, I am the one who feeds you, walks you, gives belly rubs and makes sure you have your favorite bed when we travel." Peter's words struck him as he listened to them. He wasn't actually the one who did all those things on a regular basis, Randy took care of Max mostly.

"I can see Ben's point." Peter sighed. He'd never before considered that he could be anything other than right. Sitting in the pouring rain, his arms crossed, the Canadian actor looked a sorry sight sitting on that bench. Ray rolled down the window as he pulled the Buick up to the curb.

"Get in." He ordered. Ben and Dief sat in the backseat. The mountie handed his cousin a hand towel to sop his face off with.

"Thank you kindly, Ray." Peter spoke, sounding appropriately contrite a the car cruised down the street past Devlin's house.

"Don't mention it, and I mean that literally, do not mention it." Ray turned to look at his guest, his index finger waving beneath his nose to push home his point.

"Not a problem." Peter fully agreed. Ray's threat of charging him with obstruction of justice still rang in the actor's ears.

"Ray, that's the man Ms. Allen introduced as her fiance." The mountie pointed to the extremely tall, lean, dark haired man getting into the Ford Tempo parked outside Devlin's house.

"Sure enough is, let's see how those two know each other, shall we?" A sly, coyote of a grin pulled at the detective's narrow face. Ray eased the car into a convenience store parking lot and turned the motor off. Peter turned to look at Ben who shrugged. A few minutes later the Ford Tempo passed the station. Ray eased the green dream into traffic and followed the compact car from a few cars behind. When the car pulled into a parking garage near downtown a really wolfish expression crossed Ray's face. He parked the Buick a few spots away and waited for the driver to leave. Taking a small hammer from beneath the front seat, the detective stepped out of the car.

"Fraser, I need you in the front seat, " He hitched his thumb toward the rear. "in the back seat, Mr. Gloss and stay out of sight." Peter looked at the detective as if he were speaking German but obeyed without a word.

"What is he doing, Ben?" Peter asked, his voice barely above a whisper as both Canadians watched through the window as Ray approached the Ford.

"I can only speculate at this point, but what I think he's doing is, oh dear." Fraser halted his explanation when he saw Ray use the hammer on the car's tail light, shattering the red cover and the bulb inside.

"Now I see, he can pull the car over on a traffic violation." Peter nodded, thinking to himself how well that would fit into the show if the network picked it up.

"That would appear to be his intention, yes." Fraser shook his head in disbelief. Ray walked back to the car with a wide, satisfied grin on his face.

"OK, let's get out of here." The detective slid the hammer back beneath the seat and started the car.

"You're slick, I have to say." Peter's smile lit up his whole face as he leaned up between the seats.

"I have my moments." Ray agreed with pride. Fraser just shook his head at the two of them.

"That was dishonest, Ray, manipulating traffic codes to further the investigation." Peter sat back and listened to Ray and Ben bicker about morality for a good twenty minutes as they waited for the Ford to reappear. The little car drove past them and the argument automatically hit the back burner.

"Lights please, Bennie." Ray began tailgating the Ford, his red dash light signaling for the compact car to pull over. In the parking lot of a church the Ford found the first parking lot it came to and stopped. Whistling as he got out, Ray pulled his badge out and approached the car.

"Does he do things like this often?" Peter asked, excited.

"Yes." Ben answered with a sigh.

"The two of you are an unlikely pair of friends." Peter commented, his gaze off in the distance but very much on Ben in the rear view mirror.

"Ray is a fine officer, and a good friend." The mountie began dusting his hat brim as he spoke.

"You and he get along like I wish we could have." A wistful note crept into the actor' voice.

"There's still time, Peter, neither of us are dead yet." Ben replied logically.

"It's taken us thirty odd years to agree on anything, Ben, I doubt either of us will change over night." Peter leaned back, his hand drifting to Max's soft fur.

"We should try, it's not like we have an abundance of family." Ben turned to look his cousin in the eye.

"They call me a bachelor like it's an insult these days." Peter thought back to the last time he'd seen his parents. They'd both asked him when he intended to settle down and start a family.

"Dad says the same thing to me." Ben added before thinking.

"He does, does he?" Peter looked at Ben skeptically, his brow raised.

"Well, no, Dad used to ask me when I planned on settling down." Ben shook head and hoped Peter took it as a simple gaff.

"I miss Uncle Bob, he told the best stories." Both men thought back to those long, summer nights when they would cook their supper over a fire in the backyard and Bob Fraser would tell them spine chilling ghost stories.

"He certainly could. Those were memorable times." Ben looked down at his hat, thinking of the few memories he had of his father while he was alive.

"Do you remember the story he told us about the trapper who killed a panther after it had killed his wife. He lived alone in their cabin for forty years and every night he heard a panther calling. The trapper swore it was the ghost of his dead wife." Their grandmother had let out a blood curdling scream about the time the story ended, making both boys nearly jump into the fire. Bob Fraser had laughed his butt off at them, as did their grandparents. Despite being the elder of the two, Peter had turned ghost white and humped up at Ben's side.

When Ray returned to the car Ben and Peter were laughing. "What's got into the two of you? When I left you weren't speaking now it's like you haven't seen each other in a decade."

"We were just talking about Uncle Bob's ghost stories." Peter volunteered as he wiped a laughter tear from his cheek.

"How did Ms. Allen's fiance explain his association with Anthony Devlin?" Fraser wondered, his eyes studying the Chicago detective as he grabbed the radio.

"Ah, he says he went to Devlin's to scare him into backing off, but I don't believe him for a second." Ray's hazel eyes glittered with distrust and years of keened instinct.

"Where do you go from here?" The actor leaned forward as the three watched the little, Ford Tempo drive away.

"We question Vanessa Allen about it and start digging into her fiance's background." Ray answered, his experience telling him something was rotten in Denmark.

**Scene Break**


	23. Chapter 23 Final Connections

Joshua David Clark had a file as long as his lengthy arm. His trail began when he blew out his knee playing high school basketball at seventeen, ending a promising career before it began. After that he'd been arrested for stealing a car and driving under the influence two weeks before his eighteenth birthday. From there it went from one stupid idea to the next, eventually landing him on the FBI's watch list as a con man suspected in marrying rich women and bilking them out of their inheritances, life savings, property or anything else he could lay hands on.

"Looks like he and Anthony Devlin were cell mates at Cook County." Ray laid the arrest report on the desk between his chair and Fraser.

"Have you gotten in touch with the Kentucky State Police yet?" Peter asked as he read Vanessa Allen's statement.

"Yeah, local yokels gave me the run around. I'm waiting on them to call back. It was like trying to talk to someone on _Hee Haw_, bunch of southern fried, barefoot, toothless, hillbillies." Ray blew out his cheeks as he dropped into his desk chair with a thump.

"From what I've read of the southern Appalachian culture and American history, Kentucky has always been one of the leading artistic and intellectual states in the country. In it's history Kentucky has provided noted authors, musicians, scholars, inventors. Several American actors were born in Kentucky such as Lee Majors. The list is extensive." Ray and Peter exchanged puzzled looks as they listened to Fraser expound the virtues of the Bluegrass State.

"Has he always been like this?" Ray asked with sarcasm.

"His whole life." Peter settled back and threw his hands up in defeat. Fraser gave them both unamused glares.

"Which one made first contact with Vanessa Allen, Devlin or Clark?" Peter asked as he puzzled over the woman's statement.

"Devlin, I believe." Fraser answered.

"Is there anything I can get you boys?" Francesca's mega watt smile lit up the corner of the squad room around Ray's desk.

"How about a call from the Kentucky State Police?" Ray frowned as he looked up at his sister.

"Did you say the Kentucky State Police, Vecchio?" Huey's voice broke into the conversation.

"Yeah, what of it?" The question rolled out harshly.

"Someone with a southern accent called and asked for you a while ago, said they'd send you the file in an e-mail, whatever that means." Huey joined the team, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark brown suit.

"Thanks,Huey." Ray fired up his computer and pulled up the email. He skimmed the file which had come complete with crime scene photos.

"From the investigator's notes the case was widely televised. Devlin must have had Clark compile as much information as possible about Ms. Clark and used it to unearth something from her past." Fraser deduced quickly.

"How would he do that, Vanessa Allen's statement says she hadn't told Clark about the charges filed against her." Peter pipped up.

"A wise ass reporter with the _Lexington Herald-Leader_ quoted one of the women's basketball team as saying the murder must have been in retaliation for losing a game." Ray pointed to the article in the investigator's notes on the computer screen.

"So Devlin made a connection between Vanessa Allen's assault charges and the murder so he went fishing with the pictures and she thought the cops might believe him?" The actor caught on to Ray and Ben's train of thought.

"Exactly, give the actor a standing ovation." Ray clapped quietly. Peter gave him a mock bow without leaving his chair.

"Did Vanessa Allen kill her team mate?" Peter walked around Ray to see the file on the computer screen. Irritated, Ray turned to look up at the nosy Canadian.

"Do you mind?" The detective shooed him away. Backing away, Peter apologized.

"It says here that they suspected the murder to be a ritualistic homicide possibly committed by a serial killer. The body showed no signs of sexual assault and had been posed when the cops found it." Ray gave them the gist of it all.

"That doesn't fit Ms. Allen's pattern, she picked up a beer bottle to defend herself in the bar fight, a weapon of opportunity." Fraser added thoughtfully.

"What will happen to her now?" Frannie wondered aloud. She'd been listening to her brother, Ray and Peter outline the case, well, watching the Canadians anyway.

"Ms. Allen did rob the jewelry store and since there were extenuating circumstances the judge may be lenient." Fraser answered, his arm on top of the filing cabinet where he tended to lean when he wasn't seated in front of Ray's desk.

"Now we go pick up Joshua Clark and Anthony Devlin, see which one flips first." Ray grinned. The case was heading for a wrap, hauling in Devlin and Clark was just a dirty detail left to be done.

"Let's go to dinner to celebrate, my treat." Peter offered, glad to be done with it all.

"I'd love to." Francesca invited herself with her best sultry tone, her eyes dancing as she laid one manicured hand on the actor's shoulder. Peter stiffened as she trailed her hand down his chest. He looked like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming freight train. Ray saw Fraser's lips pull up into a faint smirk. It was nice not to be the one on the receiving end of Francesca's advances for a change.

"Keep your hands to yourself and you've got a deal." Ray stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

**Scene Break **

**Author's Note:** I watch a lot of _NCIS, Criminal Minds, _and_ CSI: Las Vegas_, as if you couldn't read this chapter and tell. LOL =)


	24. Chapter 24 Realization

"Good morning, Chicago, it's five o'clock and here's the weather for today ..." the radio announcer's voice blared from the hotel's alarm clock, jarring Peter awake for the day. With a flailing hand he slapped the offending clock off the night stand. The actor laid still in the bed, not wanting to leave the warm, coziness of the king size bed. After a few minutes Max jumped up on the bed and began sticking his cold nose against Peter's cheek.

"I'm up, I'm awake." The actor's hair stood out like a curling halo around his head as he wiped sleep from his green eyes and stumbled out of bed. His bare feet hit the cold, tile floor of the bathroom as he took care of business first.

"Peter, hello." He heard Randy's voice as he rounded the end of the bed, searching for his slippers.

"I'm awake." Was all the actor could manage. He'd had a late night with Ray, Ben, Frannie and his agent as they celebrated his last night in Chicago for the time being.

"Barely, from the look of it." Randy plopped himself down on the couch and put his feet on the coffee table. He'd already dressed, eaten breakfast and packed his bags for the trip. Peter looked at him with one eye open as he shuffled lazily over to the coffee pot and started a fresh pot.

"Awake is awake, I'll be ready when the time comes." Peter growled as he dialed room service to order his breakfast. Randy only shook his head.

"I had a good time last night, that Francesca is a real doll." A big grin on Randy's face made Peter want to choke the snot out of him.

"The woman's an octopus, she slipped her hand in my hip pocket and Ben's too I believe. I think I have a bruise she pinched so hard." Peter ran a hand over the offended cheek as he waited for an answer on the other end of the phone line.

"You were the one who ordered a third round of tequila." Randy chuckled as he remembered the way Frannie had started flirting with every man in sight and telling Peter how beautiful his hands were.

"Don't remind me." The actor wiped his slightly throbbing head, his fingers running through his messy hair.

It took Randy's nagging to get Peter ready on time. Their flight left at seven so they had to be at the airport at least by six to make it through security. After breakfast the actor hurried through a shower and dressed for the day. When Fraser arrived with Ray the actor still had to tie his shoes.

"I owe you one, Peter." Ray greeted him, his eyes narrowed.

"Oh, you do?" He tried to think of what reason the detective would have for saying such a thing.

"You got my sister drunk and pawned her off on me." Randy watched the exchange with a devilish gleam in his dark eyes.

Fraser kept out of the argument, thinking to himself, _"Better you than me." _

"We must be on our way, we have a schedule to keep." The mountie reminded the group.

"I'm ready when you are." Randy grinned as he pointed toward his waiting bags near the door.

"I'm right behind you." Peter finished tying his shoes, his splinted finger delaying a usually simple task and gathered his hastily stuffed baggage.

"Well, the Rivera's pulling out in ten minutes." Ray warned, the keys jangling in his hand. All four of them walked out, bags and baggage in hand. This time the actor took most of his own baggage in hand, much to his agent's surprise. Randy let him lug the bags by himself, enjoying an easy walk to Ray's car.

"I have to say, this is a beautiful machine, Det. Vecchio, a real gem." The agent examined the Buick with an appreciative eye.

"She's a beauty, a genuine, 1972 Buick Rivera, all original parts." The detective bragged as if it were his child and not an automobile.

"Oh, Peter, Inspector Thatcher will be waiting at the airport to see you off." Ben informed his cousin as he slid into the backseat, his bags stowed in the trunk.

"My word, did she say why?" the actor tried to hide his anxiety but didn't succeed.

"No, but I would assume it's part of her duties as Chief Liaison Officer." Ben shrugged as he took the backseat of the Buick.

"I hope so." Peter rubbed the splint on his little finger. It still hurt where Meg had broken it.

**Scene Break**

Chicago's preeminent airport _ was as busy at six in the morning as it was any other time of day. The parking lot was no exception. Somehow Turnbull had found a parking spot for the consulate limo near the airport's main entrance. Peter became tense when he saw the red and white flags fluttering on the black car's antennas. Ray spied the actor fidgeting as they approached the car. Meg Thatcher had worn her best business suit to bid Peter good-bye. She was a vision in a pair of navy slacks and a brown jacket complete with crested, silver buttons to match her necklace and ear rings.

"Good morning, Mr. Gloss, we hope you've enjoyed your stay here in Chicago." She greeted the actor formally, her smile not quite reaching her dark brown eyes. Turnbull stood beside her, his posture straight and true.

"It's been an eye opening experience, to say the least." Peter took a deep breath as he extended his right hand for Meg to shake. Her gaze latched onto the white splint supporting his smallest finger. Something was not quite right, but the inspector couldn't quite pinpoint what.

"Alright, Randy, did you remember to give Max his sleeping pill before we left?" The actor turned to his long time agent.

"No, you were supposed to do that when you got to the hotel last night." Randy reminded him.

"Where is Max, I'll give them to him now." Peter looked around the limo and the Buick for the shepherd. Thatcher and Turnbull looked on, the inspector's gaze examining both cousins, still trying to figure out what was so puzzling.

"I thought you had him." Randy threw his hands up.

"You usually take care of shipping him to the airport." Peter countered.

"He's your dog !" Randy groused. The two were nose to chest as they bickered.

"You two left the dog at the hotel?" Ray interjected, beginning to laugh.

"I believe all four of you walked out of the hotel this morning." Meg pointed out to the Chicago detective, the mountie, the actor and his agent. "Including you, Constable Fraser." She turned on her junior officer. He stiffened his posture, his hands behind his back.

"Oh dear, well yes, I should have remembered the dog, you're correct, Sir." The mountie began to study his boots, avoiding her stern glare.

"Open the door for me, constable, then go back to the hotel and retrieve the dog, have it put on a later flight." Meg took a deep breath, trying to hide her revelation.  
Meg looked at Fraser like he'd sprouted a second head when she heard him say, "Oh dear, well, yes," Those words and that tone of voice were exactly the same as Peter's had been in the park after he'd apologized. She thought back to that afternoon. Peter hadn't had his finger in a splint as it should have been. Meg was torn between being upset at the deception or being flattered that Ben cared about her feelings. She didn't know if she should call him on it or let it pass. So much had been let pass between them already.

"Constable, don't let it happen again." Her dark eyes narrowed as she stepped into the consulate car, Fraser still holding the door for her.

"Yes, Inspector Thatcher." The mountie nodded. Before he could get in the front seat beside Turnbull he heard Meg call his name from the open, rear window.

"Tell me, Constable, why didn't Peter, ah, Mr. Gloss have his finger in a splint Monday afternoon?" She saw Fraser's green eyes widen and his posture stiffen. He knew she'd caught him.

"Oh dear." he thought to himself. "I hadn't noticed, Sir." Ben answered as vaguely as possible.

"He seemed almost like a different person as we walked in the park, more caring somehow." Meg looked up at Ben, their gazes locked as she sat in the limo. "He reminded me of you actually." A faint pink crept into her complexion as she held his gaze. A faint smile pulled at his firm, lower lip.

"I'm sure he cares a great deal." Ben's voice, low and warm, sent a tingle up Meg's spine as he looked down into her eyes and spoke only to her.

"If only he would tell me." She responded, her heart beating faster by the second.

"Given time I'm certain he will." Ben's voice took on a note of regret.

"Time isn't something to be taken for granted." She rolled up the window and settled back into her seat, her dark eyes staring a million miles away. Regret felt like a millstone around the inspector's neck.

"Well, Ben, let's not let another decade pass before we see each other again." Peter walked around the limo to the open passenger side door.

"Yes, maybe next time we can actually get." Ben smiled as he let Peter pull him into a quick, man-hug. For a moment they stood in silence, looking at each other. One man saw in the other a million possibilities for himself.

"I can't promise when, but I'll call." Peter's voice took a wistful tone. Ben waved as his cousin turned to leave.

"See you later, Petie." Ray shouted as he slid into the Buick. Peter turned to give him a hateful glare. The detective didn't see and wouldn't have cared if he had.

"I'm sure you'll miss him, Constable Fraser." Turnbull said as the actor and his agent walked into the airport entrance. Ray followed the limo out of the parking lot and went on about his business for the day; paperwork on the jewelry store robbery.

"Yes, I'm sure I will." Fraser spoke thoughtfully as he watched the traffic flowing around them.

_**Later, at the Consulate …**_

"What was that Inspector Thatcher was saying when she called you back to the door?" Fraser heard his father's voice sound from out of the blue as he worked on consulate paperwork.

"Oh, hello, Dad, I haven't seen you in a while." Ben laid his pen down as his father neared his desk.

"I've been avoiding your cousin, Peter, all that acting stuff is rather fruity if you ask me." The old man waved a dismissive hand as he shifted to look out the window. "What did she say, tell me." Bob Fraser's nosy streak demanded to be satisfied. Ben shook his head but kept his thoughts to himself.

"Inspector Thatcher wanted to let me know, without stating it specifically, that she knew I'd impersonated Peter to apologize to her." Ben leaned back in his chair, his fingers together at the tips as he studied his father.

"For heaven's sake, what'd you do that for?" Bob Fraser's voice boomed out to the only soul in the consulate who could hear it.

"I wanted to avoid any possible tension between them should Peter begin filming in Chicago regularly." Ben explained.

"Oh posh, you wanted to talk to her as an equal, not as her subordinate officer. In my day we didn't have this problem, there wasn't such a thing as a female mountie." Bob Fraser groused as he turned to look out the window at the damp but beautiful day outside.

"Times were different, Dad." Ben acknowledged vaguely. He thought back to how the sun had caressed Meg's skin as she sat on the picnic bench, one loafer dangling from her toe. She'd been so unguarded and approachable.

"If you like her, Son, tell her, what's the worst she can do, send you further south, somewhere in Florida or South America?" The old mountie rambled. A more southern posting wasn't what Ben feared. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what he feared about telling her how he felt. He'd rather catch his nose on a baited fish hook than have Meg see him as soft or undisciplined, or perhaps worse, to be rejected. The though of rejection sent a shiver down Ben's spine.

"It's not that, Dad." Ben sighed, annoyed with his father for bringing it up. "Let's not delve into the repercussions of telling Inspector Thatcher what I feel for her." Bob Fraser turned from the window, his hands behind his back, eyes narrowed. He'd hit too close to home for Ben and he saw it.

"Ah, so that's it, isn't it, you're afraid she'll turn you down, or laugh at you." The old mountie nodded his gray head. Ben waved him off, irritated with the whole subject.

"Do you listen to yourself or has being dead made you deaf?" he asked, rising to leave the office, his father on his heels. As usual, they kept up a steady stream of jabs and parries as they walked toward the precinct to see what Ray was doing. If Ben had left his office two minutes earlier he would have ran Meg down as she stood outside his door, trying to hear the one sided conversation she assumed he had with Diefenbaker. A warm smile played over her features as she slipped into her office a moment before he passed her door. Someday Ben would confess his attraction to her in words. Someday ...

** The End **


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